Archive of Our Own ^beta

More strange than true: I never may believe

These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

More than cool reason ever comprehends.

The lunatic, the lover and the poet

Are of imagination all compact:

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,

That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,

Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:

The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

Such tricks hath strong imagination,

That if it would but apprehend some joy,

It comprehends some bringer of that joy;

Or in the night, imagining some fear,

How easy is a bush supposed a bear! 

-Theseus in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ Act 5, Scene 1 

Monday, August 10

Harry is sitting in his usual desk, three seats from the back, beside the open window. He runs his finger over the familiar gouge in lower right hand corner of the plastic surface and looks outside at the empty soccer field.

Last semester during American Lit, he’d had a prime view of sweaty Louis Tomlinson playing all kinds of Team Sports in gym class. Maybe Harry should have been paying more attention to class. But, although Mr. Winston is cute, he’s not that cute. Maybe if he did more squats.

Harry returns his gaze to the classroom, which is filling, slowly. Veronica and Perrie are talking to Mr. Winston, whose less than stellar ass is perched on the edge of his desk. His gaze is resting a little low on their chests for Harry’s taste.

His mom has raised him to respect women, even women dressed in short, sexy summer dresses.

Even if said women keep forgetting that they promised back in April to invite Harry to a sleepover sometime. It’s whatever. Harry doesn’t even care. Having sleepovers with Niall where he does not paint his nails and does not gossip about outrageously handsome celebrities like Patrick Dempsey is equally fun. Probably.

Football. Beer. Manly things.

Which, actually- Harry gives the classroom another glance- Niall is late. Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket and rests it on his thigh, under the desk.

Sure enough, Harry has three notifications. Niall’s texted him that he’s running late because he had to drop his dad off at work. Also, Harry’s mom and aunt have both commented on Harry’s latest Facebook photo. It’s of the front of the school, featuring a sign which reads, “Have a Great Summer!”

so proud of my son, his mom says, and his aunt follows with, what a dedicated student!! going to school in the summer!!

“You’re really good at this shit, right?”

Harry’s head jerks up and his phone tumbles to the ground with a thump.

“You’re on the wrong side of the glass,” Harry tells Louis Tomlinson.

“Are we, eh- are first timers supposed to meet somewhere else? I didn’t see that in the material we were sent.” He’s hoisting himself out the desk, though, clearly ready to head outside. Which is good because Harry’s sure that is where he belongs.

He’s definitely in the wrong room. Louis Tomlinson is supposed to be in a field somewhere, playing a sport; his tan skin and sun-streaked hair are a dead giveaway. “Aren’t you going to soccer camp?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. He’s standing now. “I did. We finished last week. How did you know I went? Do you have friends on the team?”

Harry does not have friends on the team. Well, he’s friendly with lots of people on the team. But his only real friend is-

“Harry!” Niall calls as he rushes through the doorway. Every head in the classroom turns. Niall flushes bright pink, but takes the attention in stride, saying, “Hello, Writing Camp! I’m here! We can start! Let’s get our poetry on!”  

Mr. Winston walks over to stand beside him. The girls he was talking to have returned to their seats in the front row. With a smirk he says, “Mr. Horan, how good of you to show up. Are you prepared to lead our icebreaker, then?”

Niall squares his shoulders and looks at his feet. “No, sir.”

“Then take a seat, please,” he says. Mr. Winston’s eyes find Harry and then return to Niall, who’s looking back at him. “Looks like you’ll have to choose somewhere new, as your usual spot next to Harry has been usurped.”

“‘Usurped?’” Louis Tomlinson mutters, softly. “Does he think he’s teaching a college course or something? Asshole could just say ‘taken.’ We all know that’s what he really means. I’m not a fucking dictator.”

Harry knows he’s gaping. But Louis Tomlinson is talking to him. Again. In fact, Louis Tomlinson is trying to include Harry in on a joke. About Mr. Winston. It’s a mean joke, but Mr. Winston is kind of pretentious. So.

So Harry laughs.

“Do you have something you want to say to me, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis lifts his chin in Mr. Winston’s direction. Harry thinks he might actually say something rude. But instead he just shakes his head.

“What about you, Harry? Something funny happen back there?”

“Nope, never,” Harry hears himself saying. “The last funny thing that happened to me was this morning when my cat took a nap on my writing notebook.”

Mr. Winston frowns at him.

“She took a catnap. Like a literal cat. nap. Because she was napping and she’s a cat.”

“We get it, don’t worry,” Louis tells him. His eyebrows are drawn together and he looks amused. Probably because Harry’s story was very funny.

“I’ll admit it,” Mr. Winston says. “I don’t get it at-”

“Hey, now,” Louis interrupts. “It’s a very funny story. Maybe you’re just not smart enough.”

“Tommo, stop it,” another voice joins the conversation, this one lower, from the other side of Louis. Liam Payne, best friend of Louis Tomlinson, is also in the classroom. What is going on?

“If Mr. Tomlinson is finished being disruptive, we’ll begin talking about what we’re doing gathering in an unairconditioned English classroom every morning for the next two weeks. Can we do that, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Sure, enlighten us.”

In Harry’s humble opinion, insolence has never looked so beautiful.  

~

“Do I have a volunteer?” Mr. Winston asks for a second time. The session is almost over, but these little peer workshops at the end of each day are the very worst part of writing camp.

Harry opens his writing journal and flips through it. He’s trying to look like he’s searching for something suitable to read aloud to the group, even though he has no intention of actually raising his hand. He should, maybe, but he won’t.

Louis Tomlinson is not out of line to think that Harry might be good at this type of thing. Harry isn’t, but he is heavily practiced. This is the third summer in a row he’s attended Writing Camp and he’s on the staff of the Literary Magazine and he’s Treasurer of Poetry Club. He’s undoubtedly a golden child of the English Department. All the teachers think he’s a ‘darling’ and a ‘hard worker’ and Harry does love to read and write.

But he’s no good at any of it.  Everyone says. Or, actually, no one says he is good (except his mom). Which is basically the same thing.

“Finding anything in there, Styles?” Mr. Aurand asks from his chair in the back of the class where he’s been noisily reading a newspaper and allowing Mr. Winston to do the bulk of the teaching and all of the talking. If not for the loud crackling every time he’d turned a page, Harry might’ve forgotten he’d been here at all.

Now, Harry whirls to look at him. “Um,” he stammers.

“I’ll go,” Louis Tomlinson says. “I brought something I wrote for the poetry unit in British Literature.”

Mr. Winston raises an eyebrow and gestures for Louis to stand. The motion brings Harry eye level with Louis Tomlinson’s ass. It’s a good place to be because Louis’ khaki shorts are just a tad too tight.

Harry imagines that Louis must have difficulty finding pants to fit over his amazing butt. He’d worn these white skinny jeans once about a year ago- they were so tight that Harry thought they might’ve belonged to his sister- and Harry wishes he’d bring them back. Harry’s tempted to close his eyes and pull forward the mental picture he’d taken, but then he’d miss the up close view he has right now.

So instead, Harry clicks a few new mental pictures to save for later. He wonders if jerking off to memories of Louis Tomlinson’s ass is better or worse than jerking off to porn.

Louis slips a hand into his pocket and his voice drops off. The fabric pulls tighter still.

Harry doesn’t whimper, but it’s a close thing.

“So, yeah, I guess that’s my poem,” Louis says. He looks around the room, his gaze landing on Harry. “You can tell me what you think. Be honest.”

Harry bites his lip. He’d missed it. He’d missed every single word of Louis Tomlinson’s poem because he’d been too busy staring at his ass.

He thinks it’s likely Louis’ ass is more lovely than his poetry, but then dismisses the thought as rude because he hasn’t actually ever read Louis’ writing. It could be amazing.

“Very good,” Mr. Winston says, nodding, eyes narrowed and focused on Louis’ face. “Very romantic.”

“I disagree.” Taylor speaks at the same time as she puts her hand up.

Mr. Winston nods at her to go ahead, but he warns, “Remember to make your comments constructive.”

“Yeah, of course,” Taylors says. “It was really brave of you to read your poem, Louis, even though you’ve never been here before.”

Louis’ eyes go wide. “I go to this school, too. We were in the same American Literature class sophomore year in this exact room with Mr. Winston.”

“I mean Writing Camp,” Taylor returns, taking his hostility in stride. “I think your poem is pretty good, technically. But it’s not really heartfelt. It doesn’t make me believe that you’ve actually ever been in love before.”

“I haven’t,” Louis admits with a shrug. “I’m only eighteen. Of course I haven’t been in love. Have you?”

Taylor’s been in love before, Harry knows. With him, apparently. That did not end well. She must be thinking the same thing because she sends him a very pointed glare before saying, sweetly, “I have been. It’s painful.”

“This isn’t a gossip session,” Mr. Aurand reminds them, not looking up from the sports section.

“Yes,” Mr. Winston agrees, even though Harry thinks he was enjoying the drama. “Taylor, do you have a suggestion for Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Try to write about your own experience,” Taylor says, smiling broadly. “If you don’t have experiences to write about, make some.”

Mr. Winston is nodding, now. ”Brilliant, very good. That’s a tactic of many of the best artists in history. Find a muse.” His gaze lands on Veronica. “I do that as well, as a novelist.”

Ew.

Well, Veronica is by far the prettiest girl in the class, but Mr. Winston wears a band on his left ring finger and Harry’s certain he has a wife. And he’s old.

“So I’m supposed to find someone to fall in love with before the end of the week, so that I can improve my poetry? Real realistic, pal.” Harry isn’t sure if Louis is talking to Taylor or to Mr. Winston, but he likes the way he says ‘pal.’ Not enough people use the term anymore. It’s a good label, in Harry’s opinion, and he’d like to see it come back into popular usage.

Taylor takes a deep breath, clearly preparing an answer, but Mr. Winston beats her to the chase. “I’m sure there’s someone you’ve got a crush on, Mr. Tomlinson. Maybe someone in this very room. You certainly wouldn’t be the first student ever to sign up for writing camp in hopes of catching the attention of someone special.”

Louis flushes pink. Harry can see the color even under his tan and he likes it. Through clenched teeth he says, “I came here to support Payno.” He glances at Liam who is now also red.

Mr. Winston shakes his head. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, fine by me.” He looks at the clock. “Almost time to go. But I think what we can take away from today is that writing isn’t simply about technique. There’s something more to it. As a novelist, I always say...”

Harry stops listening to watch Louis’ curl in on himself, the poem he’d written now covered by the camp schedule.

Even though Harry’s writing notebook is sacred and not to be messed with under any circumstances, Harry steels himself and rips out a page. On it he writes, They’re mean and dumb. You can’t choose when you fall in love or who with. It’s all about chemistry. All the right elements have to be in place for a bond to form, if you know what I mean.

Louis frowns and Harry’s stomach drops. It’s a terrible pun. Gemma’d warned him they’d get him into trouble one day.

Louis scribbles onto the paper and passes it back, no wonder i haven’t been in love. im terrible at balancing chemical equations

That startles a loud laugh out of Harry. Luckily, the classroom is stirring, people jostling their desks and whispering to one another. Mr. Winston must’ve already dismissed them.

Harry tucks the page into the inside cover of his notebook, and turns back to apologize to Louis for the bad joke, but Louis’ already heading out the door. He’s chatting to Veronica and Perrie as he goes, Liam hovering awkwardly at his side.

Harry lets out a breath.

Mr. Winston doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Muses are very inconvenient, or, at least, Louis Tomlinson is. He doesn’t seem to ever stand still and Harry’s been trying unsuccessfully for years to get close enough to latch on for the ride. Now, the fates are outright taunting him.

~

Tuesday, August 11

“What poem did you bring?” Louis Tomlinson asks. He's sitting beside Harry, again. Niall seems pretty chill about the change, again taking the seat behind Harry instead. After all, he knows how Harry feels about Louis Tomlinson, how Harry’s felt about Louis Tomlinson since that first fateful day of sixth grade.

Looking down so that he does not lose himself in Louis Tomlinson’s eyes, Harry pulls out the e. e. cummings anthology that he has stolen off his sister’s shelf and sets it on his desk. Harry likes that the poems dance across the page. He likes that so many of them are sort of sweet-and-cheeky.

“What’s the poem, though?” Louis pushes.

Harry shrugs. He wishes he had an answer because he wants Louis Tomlinson to keep talking to him. “I haven’t chosen one.”

He hasn’t chosen one because he is not going to be reading one, not in front of the class anyway.

Louis grabs the book off the desk and flips through it, eyes intent. From his other side, Liam says, “I’m sorry. Louis can be very rude.”

Harry laughs. “It’s okay. I like to share poetry.”

Liam frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t really get it.”

Mr. Winston starts speaking, so Harry can’t ask what it is that Liam doesn’t get. Poetry in general, or sharing poetry, or Harry liking to share poetry... Harry wonders what Liam is doing at Writing Camp if he doesn’t understand the appeal of reading beautiful writing aloud.

“As a novelist,” Mr. Winston says, using his serious lecture voice. “I naturally don’t know as much about poetry as I do about prose. But I do know something.”

Harry found Mr. Winston’s unit on poetry immensely boring last semester and so he opens his writing notebook to doodle. He’s in the middle of elaborate border- star-swirl-star-swirl- around his most recent poem, when Mr. Winston recaptures his attention. “So you all brought in poetry.”

Harry looks up and Mr. Winston’s eyes fall on him at exactly the wrong moment. “What did you bring in, Harry?”

The book is not on his desk. Louis still has it and Harry resists the urge to glance in his direction. “e. e. cummings,” Harry tells him.

Mr. Winston nods, chin between his thumb and forefinger. “The rest of the class might not be familiar with his work. Why don’t you read something for us?”

This was not in Harry’s plan. He does not have a poem picked out and he does not like reading aloud in front of people.

“Um,” he stammers. Right now, he doesn’t even have the book.

Except then he does. Louis is setting it back on his desk, open, pointing to one of the poems. Softly, so only Harry can hear, he says, “Read this one.”

Harry’s throat feels tight and he doesn’t think there’s any air in his lungs, but somehow he manages to say the words on the page before him. 

By the time he’s finished, the class is in fits. The girls up front, Veronica and Perrie and Jesy, are falling out of their chairs, giggling. Niall’s cough-laughing behind him and kicking the backs of his heels against the floor. 

Harry thinks he even hears Mr. Aurand chuckling, as he flips to the next page of the paper.

Harry’s been played. He would never have chosen that on his own, even if it was kinda of fun and hot.

It’s clear then that Louis has not been trying to be his friend. He’s been preparing to humiliate him.

Harry turns to look at him. He’s looking down, frowning at his paper, and adjusting his top. Over his shoulder, Liam mouths, “So sorry.”

Mr. Winston’s arms are folded across his chest and he’s frowning and shaking his head. “Does anyone have an appropriate poem they’d like to share with the class?”

Niall’s hand shoots up.

“Mr. Horan.” He doesn’t sound like he wants to call on Niall and his arms remain tight to his chest as he waits for Niall to begin.

“I can recite it from memory.” His voice is still light with laughter. Mr. Winston’s right to remain tense. That tone means that Niall is absolutely not done with the joke.

He stands, clears his throat dramatically, and begins,

“Now that that don't kill me

Can only make me stronger

I need you to hurry up now

Cause I can't wait much longer

I know I got to be right now

Cause I can't get much wronger.” 

He doesn’t get any further because his giggles overtake his actual words.

“Did you write that?” Mr. Winston asks.

Louis seems to have recovered from his momentary tenseness because he shouts, “I love that one. By the world renowned Can Ye Weestay.”

Mr. Winston’s eyebrows furrow. He knows he’s being toyed with, but he can’t seem to figure out how to respond.

Harry laughs. Why does Louis Tomlinson have to be so cruel and so funny?  

“Hip hop artists don’t really get the recognition they deserve as poets,” Mr. Aurand says. When Harry turns around, he sees that he’s set down his newspaper. His mouth is quirked in a smile. This is why he’s Harry’s favorite teacher.

“Is Kanye really an artist, though?” Taylor pipes up.

“Of course he is,” Veronica returns. She doesn’t talk very often in class, but Harry thinks that when she does, it’s usually to say something worth listening to. “I mean, who are we to determine who is an artist and who isn’t? If he writes things that entertain and are meaningful to people…”

“Yeah, Taylor,” Louis crows. “Who are you to say Can Ye isn’t an ‘artist’? Very good point, Veronica.”

At the sound of her name, Veronica turns and smiles at Louis. He smiles back and the crinkles around his eyes deepen.

Oh. Harry thinks. That’s why Louis Tomlinson has joined Writing Camp.

Typical. Veronica might be a Class A nerd, too quiet and too smart with the most obnoxiously huge glasses, but she’s got the thing, the magic look or pheromone or chakra or whatever that makes every dude ever fall in love with her.

~

“Do you need a ride?” Louis asks Harry at the end of the session, as they pack up their bags.

Harry tries not to let the surprise show on his face. It seems like Louis is really trying to befriend him, but, if that’s true, Harry doesn’t understand why he’d passed him that dirty poem to read.

“Are you offering?” Harry doesn’t need a ride, but he does want to figure out Louis’ deal. Harry sort of hopes Louis wants to spend more time together. Maybe Harry could woo him. Harry could distract him from the fact that Veronica likes flirting with boys about as much as she likes reading Shakespeare, which is to say, not at all.  

Louis nods and his eyes don’t leave Harry’s face when he says, “Liam, do you have room in your car for Harry?”

Harry’s gaze moves to Liam who nods, hand flying up to rub at the back of his neck. “Probably could clean some stuff out of the back seat.”

Louis scowls, “Don’t make it sound like such a trial, Payno. If we were offering a ride to-”

Liam smacks the back of Louis’ head and through gritted teeth, says, “Shut up.”

“It’s okay,” Harry tells them. “I’m just going to Sara’s. It’s like three blocks away. I was planning to walk.”

“Sara’s? Oh! Sara’s Bakery and Coffee House, that’s right. Louis was saying that you work there some afternoons,” Liam begins to head toward the door. They’re the only ones left in the classroom, aside from Mr. Aurand and Mr. Winston 

Harry frowns at Louis. “You knew I worked there? In the afternoons?”

Louis shrugs. They’re in the hall now. Harry thinks they probably should have said goodbye to their teachers; that would’ve been the polite thing to do.  

“I mean, you probably don’t remember, cause that place gets pretty busy and you’re always cooking, or whatever, but I’m there almost every Thursday. You made me a drink last week.”

Harry does remember, of course.

Thursday afternoons are crazy because they have a few large regular Friday morning pastry orders, which Harry is responsible for starting. Still, for the last six weeks. Louis’ arrived around 3:30 with his sister Lottie presumably to study, and Harry has tried to be out of the kitchen and behind the counter when he comes up to order.  

“Oh,” Harry says. He doesn’t want Louis to catch onto Harry’s dark and obsessive crush, especially now that he knows about Louis’ interest in Veronica.

“I don’t have anything to do and I live pretty close,” Louis says.

“You actually don’t,” Liam mutters. Harry’s not sure if he’s confirming what Louis’ said or denying it.

“So, Harry,” -Louis wraps an arm around Harry and glares at Liam- “I could probably walk with you to work. I’m kind of craving a cup of tea, anyway.”

Harry’s noticed that Louis always drinks tea, carefully choosing the same black brew every time, but he switches up which pastry he eats with it, depending on the day.  

“If you want,” Harry says. Company would be nice. Especially Louis’.

As soon they part ways with Liam in the parking lot, Louis turns toward him, eyes bright, and asks, “So you’re pretty tight with Veronica, right?”

Harry doesn’t answer. He and Veronica run in the same circles. They take the same classes, attend the same clubs, and show up at the same parties (if the nerdfests Niall hosts can actually be called ‘parties’). So, sure, he and Veronica are friends. But they’re not, like, friends friends.

Harry picks up his pace. If Louis’ just following him to the shop because he wants learn about Veronica, Harry doesn’t want to prolong the walk. “Why?”

Louis takes a deep breath. Then he laughs. Then he takes another, shallower breath and says, “Let’s say, hypothetically…”

“Hypothetically,” Harry repeats. He knows exactly where this is going.

“Yeah. I’m not saying this is true, but let’s say I had a friend, a jock like me, who had a huge, I’m talking planet size and not tiny-ass planet like Pluto, but a Uranus size crush on Veronica.”

Harry frowns and keeps his head down. He doesn’t need to see Louis to know that he’s flushed and uncomfortable. This is so unfortunate.

“Let’s say you did,” Harry agrees.

“My friend,” Louis clarifies. “We’re talking about my friend.”

Harry glances at Louis out of the corner of his eye. He’s fiddling with the strap on his backpack and looking at his shoes. Neither of them speak again for a long moment.

Louis’ voice is a little high when he continues with the question, “Would a guy like that, like me, have a chance with someone like her? Do you think?”

Harry laughs. “No.” Best to just be upfront about the reality of the situation.

Louis stumbles. “No?” he asks.

He sounds devastated, Harry thinks. Which is good, probably. No use getting his hopes up. Still, the sadness in his voice sits uncomfortably between them. Maybe Harry was a little too harsh. He should be nicer. “I mean, I’m sure you- I mean your friend is wonderful. It’s not your, like, personality, or even that you’re a jock. Niall’s tried to get in with her about a hundred times. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but I don’t think it’s a boyfriend.”

“Wait.” Louis sounds delighted. His emotions are going to give Harry whiplash. “You mean she likes girls?”

Harry shakes his head. He’d comforted a very distraught Jesy last fall after she’d been rejected by Veronica. “No,” Harry shrugs. He contemplates how much he should share. “I think she’s into, like, writing. And drawing. And comics.”

“Comics?” Louis stops walking and grabs Harry’s shoulders between his hands. His touch is more forceful than Harry expects. Harry wonders just how strong he actually is. He plays so many sports.

“You’re telling me that Veronica Malik likes comics?”

Harry’s seen them tucked in her bag and hidden between the pages of her textbooks. “Mostly the Japanese kind, which is weird, I know.” He doesn’t want Louis to think that he’s into that stuff, too. “But who am I to judge? Some people are into that. It’s cool.”

Louis nods. “Yeah. Wow. I never would have guessed.”

Harry lifts his chin. “We English nerds are full of surprises.” For example, Harry is very good at moaning out fake orgasms in order to scandalize his sister and her friends. He doesn’t say so out loud to Louis, partly because he hopes, futilely, that Louis might want to discover this trick on his own. Organically.

“I guess you are,” Louis agrees, wrapping his hand around Harry’s wrist and tugging him the few more meters to the front door of Sara’s. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Harry nods. They’ll be in that classroom sweating their asses off together every week day for the next two weeks.

“Cool,” Louis says, smacking Harry on the cheek. “You’ve been very helpful, Harold. Very helpful.”

Harry pulls open the door to the shop and the bells above them jingle. “Bye,” he says.

“Yeah, bye,” Louis says.

Harry turns to enter. Louis follows him closely.

Over his shoulder, trying not to make things awkward and failing (Harry knows he’s awkward, he knows), he says, “I, um, have to change and get my uniform on and clock-in and, like, other work stuff.”  

Louis face scrunches up and he waves a hand. “Oh sure, of course. I just wanted a cup of tea.”

Harry flushes. Because, obviously, why else would he have ditched his ride? Harry feels like a idiot for assuming he wanted to keep their conversation going.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Okay, then. See you.” When he turns around, Louis’ laughing and Harry doesn’t know why.

Harry feels foolish, but also a little giddy, smiling to himself as he ties his apron bow to have extra large loops. It’s a loopy kind of day.

~

Wednesday, August 12

Mr. Winston’s voice is rising. He’s very passionate about plot, apparently, as it’s the topic of his closing speech. Every Mr. Winston camp session, just like every Mr. Winston class and every Mr. Winston Literary Magazine meeting Harry’s ever attended, has ended with a heartfelt address to the students.

Right now, he’s saying, “The most important thing to remember when you’re writing short stories is that they need to be short. The plot has to move. Don’t be afraid of reaching the climax too quickly.”

Louis snickers. He’s in the seat beside Harry for the third day in a row.

Emboldened by the noise and Louis’ choice to sit near Harry again, Harry murmurs, “I feel sorry for his partners.”

Louis remains quiet and Harry glances over to see if he’s made a mistake. He hasn’t. Louis is beaming and shaking his head.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Harold,” he replies, finally. He sounds proud, as if Harry’s dry remark is somehow his own accomplishment. Maybe it is.

“Your characters can do things, so make them do things. If they want the girl, have them go after the girl. If they want to get their novels published, make them send them to the publisher. Carpe Diem!” He shouts the last phrase and his eyes are wet.

Harry doesn’t think they’re talking about short stories anymore, but he supposes it’s a good sentiment nonetheless. Life’s like a short story, after all.

Behind them, Mr. Aurand claps his hands once and then rubs them together. “Time to go home, guys. See you all tomorrow!”

Harry rises immediately and begins to pack up his things.

“So, um,” Louis says.

Harry waits for a moment, but Louis doesn’t continue, so he turns to say, “Are you going to go home and work on speeding up your climaxes?”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Harry regrets them. He and Louis aren’t even friends like that, not yet.

Louis stiffens and looks down to pick at some lint on his jeans, but he doesn’t seem upset or offended because he replies, “Yeah, I am. Be nice to have a partner to work with, though, for feedback, you know?”

He looks up through his (very long) eyelashes at Harry and Harry laughs helplessly. Louis Tomlinson just made a sex joke to him, Harry Styles. He can definitely die happily now.

Harry puts his notebook into his navy shoulderbag. He toys with the strap, gaze now on the door to the classroom and the other students filing out of it.

From the other side of Louis, Liam says, “I know you guys are joking, but that was actually really helpful, what Mr. Winston said, I mean. It’s really gonna help with the project I’m working on.”

“Your project, yeah,” Louis says. “I’ve been telling you, bro. Nothing shameful in taking those little blue pills. No one even has to know.”

“Oh, fuck off, Louis,” Liam says, shoving him a bit. “You know what I mean.”

Louis isn’t paying attention to him, though. His gaze has narrowed in on Veronica and her friends, who are almost to the door.

“Let’s catch up to Niall,” he says.

Niall’s with the girls, of course. After striking out with Veronica, he moved on to Perrie. He’s leaning in to whisper in her ear as they approach. Her face goes sour.

“Niall!” Louis throws an arm around Niall’s shoulder.

Niall, who can probably count on his fingers the number of words he’s exchanged with Louis Tomlinson before this very moment, turns to grin at him. “Louis, my man!”

Under her breath, Harry hears Veronica mutter, “So fake.”

Louis looks around the group. “So, Carpe Diem! Let’s all get lunch together.”

Louis glances at Liam and Harry and then nods dramatically toward the girls. He’s obviously trying to arrange a group date in the least smooth fashion possible.

“Sure,” Liam says. He bites his lip and looks very, very unsure.

“I’m in.” Veronica is so quiet that Harry almost doesn’t hear.

“I’m so hungry,” she adds, a little louder.  

Louis crows a, “Hell, yeah!”  Then, he turns to look at Harry. Harry doesn’t really want to play third wheel, but maybe he can keep Liam company.

“I’ll go,” Niall says. “And so will Harry. He loves lunch.”

Harry shoots him a confused look. He doesn’t particularly love lunch, not any more than any other meal, at least.

“Great! Perfect!” Louis’ practically singing, now. “Let’s go to Sara’s so Harry can get us his employee discount.”

“I can’t-” Harry begins but then he meets Louis’ blue blue blue eyes. He can probably make it work. For Louis, at least. “Okay, maybe.”

God, he’s so fucked. He’s helping his crush woo their crush. What the fuck is wrong with him?

He hangs back from the group a little as they walk, needing to collect his thoughts, and, well, to scold himself a little for being so susceptible to Louis’ charisma.

Niall winds up beside him. “Yeah, money,” he says.

Harry glares at him. “What are you so happy about?”

“My boy’s about to score! And with Louis Tomlinson. You are living the dream.”

Harry doesn’t have the heart to correct him.

~

Louis tucks himself into Harry’s side right before he reaches the register, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of his hip.

Caroline smiles back at them. “Not in the kitchen today, Harry?” She reaches across the counter and pokes at one of his cheeks.

He bats her hand away with a giggle.

“Stop touching customers,” Louis hisses. “That’s rude. I’m going to report you to your manager.”

“We share almost all the same shifts,” Harry explains, turning his head. His nose brushes Louis’ cheek.

Harry orders a bagel sandwich and somehow Louis manages to trick Caroline into tacking his cup of soup onto the same bill so the total is double what Harry expected to be paying.

Harry’s about to tell Caroline that they aren’t together and to split them up, when Louis pulls out his wallet. “I’ll get it,” he says. “No worries.”

Before Harry can follow Louis to the table where a few of the others have begun to congregate, Caroline motions for him to lean in.

“How did a nerd like you land such a hottie?” She whispers. She’s grinning though and she really doesn’t look surprised, at all.

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t. He likes Veronica.” Harry nods toward the table. “The one he’s sitting across from, with the big-” -Harry puts his hands on his chest- “and the glasses.”

Caroline shakes her head. “She is hot. But I’d put my money on you, you cutie. He bought your lunch, not hers.”

Harry frowns. She’s right about lunch, but, “He thinks if he befriends me, she’ll like him better.”

“If you say so.” Caroline sounds doubtful, but she is in college and has clearly forgotten how the high school social hierarchy works.  Boys like Louis make fun of boys like Harry. They don’t flirt with them.

~

Harry’s halfway through a bite turkey and cheese deliciousness when Louis whacks him on the back, causing the food to fly out of his mouth and across the table onto Liam’s plate.

“Louis!” Liam cries. Harry’s glad he knows exactly who to blame and chokes out a laugh.

“See if I ever do anything for you again,” he mutters, wrapping up the half chewed up mess in a napkin and depositing it onto Louis’ plate.

“What have you done for him, lately?” Niall asks through a mouthful of pastry. He’s already finished his sandwich.

Louis tilts his head and looks long and hard at Liam. “Yeah, buddy? What have you done for me?  I’m at this camp for one thing, even though I’m a shitty writer.”

“I thought the poem you read Monday was really clever!” Veronica says. Harry frowns at the last piece of his bagel. The poem was obviously clever- Harry’s sure of that even if he hadn’t heard it- but also he wishes Veronica hadn’t said so. Louis may think he has a chance with her.

Also, despite the fact that she was ‘so hungry’ after class, all she ordered was a granola bar (which Harry himself had made yesterday, actually) and she hasn’t touched it. Harry doesn’t like liars. Lying is disrespectful.

Louis huffs out a breath. “It really wasn’t. And, anyway, the point is, I’m doing lots of things for Liam. Like writing camp. Like this lunch right now." 

“Bullshit,” Liam says. “I said I wanted to go, but-”

Harry doesn’t really want them to air their dirty laundry, right here, right now. It’d be bad for Sara’s business, so he says, “What do you all think Mr. Winston’s novel is about? I’ve been thinking it might actually be a spy thing.”

He tries to be polite about the interruption, directing the question toward Veronica, but he makes sure it’s loud enough to distract most of the table. The English kids love to speculate about this. Mr. Winston is always talking about his novel, but he refuses to even give them a hint as to what it’s about.

“Oh, it’s definitely a romance,” Louis pipes in. Argument effectively derailed. “When he was talking about plot today, I distinctly heard him say something about having your hero get the girl.”

“Do you think he’s writing it for his wife?” Perrie asks. “That’d be sweet, I think.”

“I could write you something real romantic,” Niall tells her.

Harry closes his eyes. His friends are such losers.

“I think romantic stories are overrated,” Veronica murmurs. She pulls a mini chocolate chip out of her granola bar and places it on her tongue.

“I like them,” Harry disagrees. “I think they’re fun. Romance is fun.”

“No wonder you’re always writing cheesy poetry,” Veronica returns with an unimpressed stare.

The criticism stings, but Harry’s used to it by now. His poetry is too happy for people to enjoy. Whatever. It’s how he feels, so he sticks out his tongue at her.

“I like romantic stuff, too,” Louis says and Harry is surprised to hear him contradict Veronica. But maybe he thinks his romance will win her over, or something.

Harry smiles to himself because he knows that’s a losing strategy. Niall’s already tried, obviously.

“Romance is usually so boring,” Liam says. “Like, okay you want to kiss each other. Just do it, then. I like fighting and explosions and getting shit done.”

“Wooing someone is getting shit done,” Louis bites back. It’s exactly what Harry was thinking. He never thought he’d have so much in common with Louis Tomlinson!

“You clearly don’t get that,” Louis continues. “Or else you’d have a girlfriend by now.”

He’s raising his voice again and Harry tries to think of another way to distract them from fighting. Louis and Liam clearly have some beef to work out.

“You’re not doing any better.” Liam folds his arms across his chest and lifts his chin. He looks pointedly between Louis and Harry.

Harry doesn’t get why he’s being included in the argument. Sure, he doesn’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, but, like, he could, if he wanted. Cara had invited him to see a play with her just last week. He’s waiting till the right person is interested to make his move.  

Louis leans in. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”

“Whatever,” Perrie murmurs, standing up. “You guys are lucky. Relationships are overrated. I’m swearing off them for a long time.”

Niall’s face falls.

“Anyway.” She hikes her purse up on her shoulder. “I have to get to my babysitting job. You kids have fun.”

“Yeah, I’ve got, yeah, something, too,” Niall says, standing and stretching.  

Everyone else begins to follow their lead, carrying their plates and cups to the bus station. Harry watches with gritted teeth as Veronica dumps her granola bar into the trash.

Louis pokes Harry in the shoulder. “I need your phone number,” he says.

“Why?” Harry asks and then, because it doesn’t actually matter why and he’s not an idiot and his crush just asked for his phone number, he adds, “I mean, sure.”

“So I can text you, duh,” Louis explains. His phone is already in his hands. “Just tell me it and I’ll text you right now so you have mine, too.”

Harry recites the number for him and, just a moment, later, his pocket buzzes.

“Cool,” he says, even though inside he’s feeling anything but cool. He’s just been given a huge privilege and he knows he’s absolutely going to fuck it up by doing something embarrassing like texting Louis a string of nonsensical emojis at 3am because he can’t stop thinking about Louis and he needs Louis to also be thinking about him in return.

This is so bad.

“Cool,” Louis agrees. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry manages to say.

Okay. Harry’s fine. Everything is fine.

As soon as Louis is out the door, Harry runs up to the cash register. “Caroline. He asked for my phone number. What do I do?”

She pats his hand. “Lay off the banana emojis. And the eggplants. That’s coming on too strong, for sure, even to someone who clearly likes you as much as he does.”

“You’re wrong. He just wants to be my friend. Or make me look stupid. Or something. I don’t know,” Harry moans.

“Look, sweetie. I’m sorry that you’re confused, but I have to get back to work.”

Harry whimpers and then heads out the door, the bells tinkling behind him.  

~

Thursday, August 13

“Harry would send in that picture,” Niall laughs. He quiets himself when Harry glares at him and rushes to explain, “It’s so happy and stuff. It reminds me of you.”

Mr. Winston clears his throat, drawing the class’s attention back to him. “Tell us about the photo, then, Harry?”

“Well, they’re kissing,” Harry says, answers. The famous picture takes up the whole of the wall, making it seem far more obscene than Harry had intended.

He’d emailed the image to Mr. Winston at 10:30pm, not long before the midnight deadline. It wasn’t actually the picture he’d planned on sending in. He’d been choosing between several others, all of people amidst war-torn or disaster ridden communities, when Louis’ texted him.

what are you going to send in for tomorrow ?

His finger slipped. The image of the kissy face is right above the confused face on his phone and his finger slipped. Before he could stop it he’d sent Louis Tomlinson a kissy faced emoji.

haha, Louis had responded immediately. Which, like, what did that mean? Did he think Harry was flirting with him? Probably. And the idea of that was funny to him- oh god.

Harry’d known he should not be allowed to have Louis’ number and that he’d somehow fuck everything up. However, he had not imagined he’d ruin things with his very first text.

Harry had no idea what to say. He scrambled for an explanation. i’m sending mr. winston romantic art. we’ll see if you’re right about his novel maybe.

Which, then he’d had to find romantic art. To send to his writing teacher.

Tired and panicked and in a rush to close his computer before his mom came and took it away, the V-J Day in Times Square picture had seemed the perfect solution. Famous enough to be both art and not that weird of a choice.

ah.

That’s what Louis had texted him back. That’s it. Just two letters: a. h. Harry was such a loser.

The good news was that Louis still smiled at him and sat beside him again today.

The bad news is that Mr. Winston has chosen Harry’s picture for the art slideshow and is now asking Harry to explain his choice.

“And why do you think this is good art?” Mr. Winston is smiling encouragingly. He has no idea how sick Harry’s feeling inside.

“Um. It tells a story and captures an important emotion. Everyone was so excited that the war was over. Like, you don’t even have to explain what’s going on- you can just look at the picture and know how relieved and happy everyone was.”

Harry thinks that’s a good explanation and is relieved and happy himself when Mr. Winston nods his approval.

Still, Mr. Winston does not move on to the next slide. He crosses his arms. “Okay, one more question for you, Harry. Why did you choose this photograph?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he looks down. He thinks through his text conversation with Louis. He can’t very well rehash that debacle. He runs his finger down the outside of his writing notebook.

“You could have chosen a painting or a line drawing or a dozen other things that conveyed a clear emotion? Why this photograph, Styles?” Mr. Aurand prompts.

Harry looks back at him and chews his lip. Harry thinks Mr. Aurand already knows the answer to his question, but he’s happy for the little push.

“I want to take pictures like this someday. I want to capture history and I want to do it this well.” It feels odd to say out loud to someone other than Mr. Aurand or his mom, but it’s true. Harry really, really wants to be a photojournalist.

It’s why Harry’s doing all the writing stuff, even though he sucks. Mr. Aurand says he needs to be a journalist first, and a photographer second, if he really wants to make it big. Which, of course, he does.

“Very good,” Mr. Winston beams at him. “I’ll be excited to see what photographs you choose to submit for the ‘Zine.” He taps his clicker. “Next one. From Louis Tomlinson.”

It’s a picture of Michelangelo's David.

Except that someone has photoshopped hearts over his dick and his nipples. 

“Had to clean it up a bit,” Mr. Winston explains. “Don’t want any of your parents suing me for sexual harassment. So tell us, Mr. Tomlinson, what do you like about this statue?”

“His curls,” Louis says, without hesitation.

“They are very carefully hewn,” Mr. Winston replies.

“Hewn,” Louis mutters lowly, so that only Harry and Liam can hear. “Who even uses that word?”

“I think,” Niall says. “I think Louis chose it for it’s...” Harry turns around to see Niall wiggle his finger and waggle his eyebrows.

“It is shapely,” Louis replies, not even flushing. Harry’s sure he’s bright red and no one’s even talking to him. “But I prefer my partners a little bigger, you know?”

“Enough, boys,” Mr. Winston chastises. “Let’s keep this appropriate.”

“We were talking about his nose. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mr. Winston,” Louis shakes his head and clucks his tongue.

Mr. Winston sighs and taps to the next slide.

~

Harry still doesn’t have any actual writing to submit to the magazine. His mom, who is usually so supportive, had told him that if he didn’t get any actual words in the magazine this year, she wasn’t going to pay for the camp next year.

He supposes that is fair enough seeing as when he hadn’t gotten anything but photographs in last year she’d gone straight to Mr. Winston for an explanation. Mr. Winston, traitor that he is, had informed her that Harry hadn’t actually submitted anything besides his art.

Well.

Apparently, his mom doesn’t have an extra hundred and fifty bucks to send him to writing camp if he’s not interested in actually writing. This year, she’d tried to convince him to go to art camp instead. His grandma even offered to pay for a prestigious and expensive weeklong overnight program at a local university.

Harry said no way. He wants to be a journalist.

He’s going to write something this year.

He looks at the blank paper in front of him. Then, he flips through his writing notebook. Nothing jumps out at him.

He’s hyper aware of Louis beside him and his furious penstrokes marking up his paper. He wonders what Louis is writing about. Probably Veronica. Or very large dicks, apparently.

Harry’s not doing so bad in that department. Also, he’s heard that dudes can keep growing, like, down there, into their early twenties.

He can’t think of a good way to communicate this to Louis, though. Maybe he can arrange some sort of pool party for them to attend together and then Harry can march around the place in his speedo.  

He looks back down at his blank paper. An image of Louis’ eyes locked on Harry’s beautiful bulge flits through his mind. He could write about that.

Probably too happy. Like everything Harry writes, according to the other stupid, mean English nerds. Thank you, Niall. Thank you, Veronica.

Well, Harry is unhappy about the current focus of Louis’ attention. If Louis would pay attention to him, their love could be epic. They could really be something great.

He decides that is what he will write, not just a love poem, but an angsty love poem.

~

“So the most important thing to remember is that you get from art what you put into it,” Mr. Winston says. “So put your whole self into it and you’ll become a new person.”

When he’s finished speaking, he beams.

Harry’s not great at math, but he’s pretty sure that if you get what you put in and you put in yourself, you should get yourself back, which seems like a lot of work for nothing.

“You should try that, Liam,” Louis says. “Whatever new person came out would probably be cooler than you, anyway.”

“I’m ignoring you,” Liam replies, tucking his notebook into his bag.

“Alright, you all can go home and enjoy the beautiful afternoon,” Mr. Winston announces. “Be inspired!”

“Oh, I’m inspired, alright,” Louis says. “To get the fuck out of here.”

“Language, Tomlinson,” Mr. Aurand says, eyes peeking over the top of the sports section. Harry’s certain he’s hiding a smile.

“I said get the ‘puck’ out of here. It was a hockey reference,” Louis tells him with smirk. “You love hockey, right?”

Mr. Aurand sets down the paper. “Not this year. Our GM has been acting like he has a bag of rocks for a brain.”

“Yay, sports,” Harry says, looking between them.

Louis looks at him and smiles. “Yep, hockey is a sport, Harry. Good job.”

“Hey,” Harry frowns. “I love sports. I know all about them.” That might be a stretch of the truth. Harry does like sports. Particularly, Harry likes photographing muscular, sweaty, semi-naked athletes for the school paper. However, Mr. Aurand was on his ass last year to learn the rules of all the games better so as to actually capture the important moments, not just the rippling quads and bulging biceps.

“Been studying up?” Mr. Aurand asks, apparently remembering their heart-to-heart on the subject just as clearly as Harry.

Harry nods. It’s not a lie. He’s been studying lots of sports photography. He’s even convinced his mom to purchase him a subscription to Sports Illustrated.

“Good man, Styles. Good man.” Mr Aurand nods.

“Hey, um,” Liam interrupts. “Louis, I have to get going. If you’re not coming with, can you text me about Saturday?”

“What’s happening Saturday?” Niall asks before Harry has the chance. He gives Harry the bro nodandsmirk. So not subtle. For some reason, he’s gotten it into his head that he can play matchmaker with Louis and Harry.

Which, no, because A) Louis’ interested in Veronica, not Harry and B) if Louis were interested in Harry, Harry is perfectly capable of being his own matchmaker.

“Yeah. What’s happening Saturday?” Perrie asks, dragging Veronica over to them. Both of the girls are looking at Liam.

“Nothing,” Liam says, his heavy brows furrowing. “I mean, Louis and I were talking about hanging out. Playing some Madden or something.”

“I thought you wanted to invite some people over to watch a movie on that sweet projector your dad rigged up in the basement.” Louis’ brows are raised and his gaze is firm on Liam.

“I-” Liam pauses. “I did?”

“That sounds cool,” Perrie says. “Veronica and I were planning on watching something at hers. It’d be more fun with you guys.”

Veronica tilts her head, as if considering this. She looks at Liam. “Sounds alright.”

Louis nods enthusiastically and looks around the group. His gaze lands on Harry. “Everybody in, then?”

Harry doesn’t think his family has any plans for that night and, even though he knows Louis’ interested in Veronica, it feels like he’s very specifically inviting Harry. At least, he’s not looking away from Harry’s face as he waits for the group to answer.

“Okay,” Harry says. He squeezes his the leather of his writing notebook between his fingers. “Sounds cool.”

“Awesome. It’s a party!” Louis announces, even though Harry’s the only one who’s responded to the invitation. He’s smiling widely as he turns to smack Liam on the ass. “Let’s go! Liam! You’re going to be late to pick up your sister from her friend’s house. Stop dawdling!”  

As soon as they are out the door, Niall smacks his palm onto Harry’s desk. Harry’s pen skitters onto the floor as he shouts, “Fuck yeah.”  

Harry’s eyes flit to Veronica and Perrie, but they’re immersed in their own whispered conversation. “Niall,” Harry mutters. “It’s not like that. I’m telling you he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Like hell he doesn’t,” Niall says. “You are so wrong.” He smacks Harry’s desk again. “You fucking smooth-ass mother-”

“Language, Horan,” Mr. Aurand says, folding up his paper.

When he catches Harry watching him, he winks and mouths. “Let’s fucking go.”

~

Friday, August 14

Harry flips mindlessly through his writing notebook. He’s not really paying attention the words on the page or to Mr. Winston’s lecture. He knows that they’re going to have to pair off for peer editing in a moment and that he will not have a partner.

Niall’s eying the girls up front. One of them will take pity on him (or, perhaps, be secretly flattered by his flirting) and agree to work with him. Louis’ll pick Liam or, worse, Veronica.

And Harry will be stuck in the back, on his own. Or with another loser.

“You should not choose your best friend for this assignment. I want a fresh pair of eyes looking at your work and feedback from a new perspective,” Mr. Winston tells them. “You’ve got about forty minutes for this. Please use the process on the handout I’ve passed out. Get to it!”

Harry looks around, trying to see who’s choosing who, without catching anyone’s eye. He supposes it wouldn’t be too bad to be left without a partner. Nobody really likes his work, anyway.

“Veronica,” Louis says. Even though he sort of expected it, Harry’s heart drops into his stomach.

Harry does not look up, even when he smells Veronica’s perfume move into the vicinity of his desk.

“What’re you two working on?” She asks.

“All Liam’s done this whole week is draw a stupid comic,” Louis says. Harry can’t help himself; he sits forward in his desk so he can peer around Louis to see the paper on Liam’s desk. He can’t make out much, just a bunch of penciled scribbles. “And I’ve been working on a poem or two.”

“Cool,” Veronica says. She’s picking up Liam’s comic. “This is a really interesting premise.”

Liam scratches the back of his neck. He’s so pink. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m not a great drawer.” His smile wobbles as he meets her eyes..

Harry realizes that Liam likes Veronica, too. This is not going to end well. He wonders if Louis and Liam know about their mutual crush. He wonders if they’re openly competing.

“Maybe I can help,” Veronica murmurs, lifting the paper up even closer to her face.

“Harry!” Louis says, voice cutting across the top of the soft chatter that’s broken out throughout the classroom. The legs of his chair and desk screech against the floor tiles as he pulls himself around to face Harry. “Looks like it’s you and me, then.”

His smile is bright, but Harry’s sure it’s a cover. He’d called Veronica over, clearly hoping she’d be his partner and she basically ignored him, focusing instead on Liam’s probably very dumb comic. Harry doesn’t want Louis and Veronica to get together, not if he’s honest, but he does feel a little bitter on Louis’ behalf. Veronica’s blatant disinterest seems unnecessarily cruel.

Harry doesn’t apologize for Veronica, but he wants to. If Harry were Veronica, he’d have asked to see Louis’ poems instead.  

“What are you writing? Not a stupid comic, I hope.” Louis reaches for Harry’s notebook.

Harry pulls it out of his grasp. When he’d learned yesterday that they were going to pair off for peer editing, he might have gone home and imagined about being partnered with Louis, but he hadn’t believed it’d actually happen.

So he’d wasted his time before bed playing out a whole fantasy editing session in his head instead of blotting out the few scribbled harry tomlinsons in the margins and editing his most recent poem which referenced someone with piercing blue eyes and a gorgeous round bottom.

Oops.

“I’m sure Liam’s comic isn’t stupid,” Harry says, even though he thinks that it probably is. He’s not going to be mean about it.  

Also, if it’s as dumb as all that, why would Veronica be so interested in it? Harry peers over Louis’ shoulder at the pair of them.

He supposes that Liam has very large muscles. Perhaps that’s why Veronica’s never been into Niall. Maybe she’s not into toothpick legs.

“Oh, trust me, it is,” Louis assures him. He twists in his seat to call out to the other pair. “Who’d you base your hero off of, Liam?”

Liam startles, sitting back from where he’d been leaning into Veronica, who, for her part, does not look up from the comic.

“Um,” Liam says. “It’s not just off me. It’s like a mix of a lot of people, Louis.”

“What’s his superpower, then? Harry wants to know.” Louis winks at Harry before turning back to Liam.

Liam’s bright pink. He lifts his chin. “He doesn’t have any superpowers. He’s just a regular guy.”

Louis nods. “I rest my case.”

Liam’s frown deepens. “He’s really not like-”

“Payne, are you working with Tomlinson or Malik? Because you are only supposed to have one partner for this activity,” Mr. Aurand says. The comic section is spread out on his desk. Harry would not have guessed that he read comics.

“I’m working with Veronica. Tommo was just asking me some quest-”

“Get back to work, then,” Mr. Aurand cuts him off.

“I thought this was supposed to be camp, like, for fun,” Liam mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at his admittedly impressive forearms.

“What was that?” Mr. Aurand asks.

“Nothing,” Liam grumbles a little more loudly. Harry wants to laugh. Louis is laughing.

“Well,” he says. “I’m having fun. How about you, Harold?”

Harry nods. With Louis looking at him like that, all smiley and friendly, he’s obviously going to be having fun.

Louis holds out his hand palm up. “So, let’s see it. You obviously like to read dirty poems. You write them, too?”

Harry flushes. He hasn’t written any dirty poems. Well unless the line about Louis’, or rather his imaginary lover’s, ass counts. Harry doesn’t think it does.

Still, he’s not ready for Louis to read his work so he keeps his notebook clutched to his chest. “Yours first, please,” he tells Louis.

Louis blinks at him, maybe as surprised as Harry by the assertiveness in his tone.

“Please,” Harry asks, attempting to make his tone as syrupy as possible. He bats his eyelashes.

He’s flirting with Louis Tomlinson. And not for the first time. Oh god, what is his life?

Louis tilts his head and reaches out. Harry flinches and tightens his grip on his journal, but Louis just laughs and pulls one of his curls. “For you? Sure,” he says.

Is he flirting back?

Like, maybe, he’s giving up on Veronica? Might as well go for Harry, if he’s lost his first choice crush.

Actually, that seems stupid. He’s never demonstrated any interest in Harry before. He’s never even really talked to Harry before this week. So maybe he’s trying to make Veronica jealous, show her how desperate Harry is for him or something.

Over Louis’ shoulder Harry can see that she is paying them no attention whatsoever, so if that’s Louis’ plan, it’s definitely not working. In fact, with the way she’s smiling at Liam, Harry isn’t so sure that his plan would work even if she were watching them.

“Hey,” Louis says, tapping Harry’s desk and the paper that’s now laying on top of it. “Hey, pay attention. This is important.”

Harry looks down at Louis’ poem. Their fingers brush as Harry moves to pick it up and his heart skips a beat.

He let’s his eyes wander over the page, taking in Louis’ careful script before processing what he’s trying to say.  

It’s very, very romantic. He really, really wants ‘you’- whoever ‘you’ is (probably Veronica)- to like him back.

To Harry, the words don’t read false like the others had said about the poem he’d read to the class the first day. Harry looks at Liam and Veronica again and he feels sad.

“It’s good,” Harry says.

“Yeah?” Louis asks. He’s got his fingers by his mouth and Harry thinks he’s biting a nail.

“I like it. I think if you, like, gave it to the person it’s about, they’d probably fall madly in love with you. Kiss you on the spot, maybe even.” Harry can’t look him in the eye as he says it because inside his head he’s picturing Veronica launching herself into Louis’ arms.

“Is that so?” Louis sounds skeptical.

Harry sneaks a peak at him through his eyelashes. Then looks back down at the poem and nods. “Like.” He’s not sure what else to say. “Yeah.”

Louis sighs and grabs the poem back. “Well, you’re wrong. They didn’t.”

Harry’s eyes fly to his face. “What? Did you do it already? I don’t believe you.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Believe me. Let’s see yours, Curly.”

~

“We’ll need the editor to be fair and appropriate in facilitating discussion about each of the prospective pieces for our ‘zine. They’ll need to make the tough calls if the group as a whole cannot agree on something. Raise your hand if you want to nominate someone for this very important leadership position.”  

They all know ‘very important leadership position’ is code for you’ll probably want to put this on your college applications.

Mr. Winston glances around the room, his eyes landing on Veronica. He’s so biased. Just because she’s smart and pretty and writes well doesn’t mean-

Louis’ hand shoots up into the air. He never raises his hand before speaking.

Harry turns his whole body to look at him. He’s just been so sweet to Harry about the poem Harry’d chosen to read to him. Harry wonders if maybe he might be about to suggest, like, him, Harry, for editor. Not that Harry’d accept or anything.

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

Harry’s pulse is pounding. Say it, he thinks. Then, wait, no don’t say it. Finally, as Louis opens his mouth, oh my god.  

“Payno was telling me yesterday that he thought Veronica should be head editor.” The words come out in a rush. Louis grins at Liam.

“Are you nominating Veronica, then?” Mr. Winston moves to the board to write her name.

“Yeah, me and Liam.” He has to know, then. He has to know that Liam likes Veronica, too. Harry’s found himself in the midst of a bad teen movie and Liam and Louis have some sort of bet in place about who can woo her.

This is very bad. For Harry, at least.

And, probably also Louis. Because Veronica has turned in her seat to smile at Liam, not Louis. Liam.

That’s it for Harry. That’s the final straw. He’s going to suck it up and help Louis, because Louis deserves better.

He raises his hand.

“Harry? Who would you like to nominate?” Mr. Winston crosses his arms over his chest.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry hears himself say. “I think he’d be a really great leader. I mean, he is a really great leader. He’s captain of the soccer team; did you know?”

“Co-captain,” Liam corrects.

Harry ignores him because that’s not the point.

“I know he’s never been to this camp before and he’s not part of literary magazine, but I think he’d be good at making tough decisions. He has to do it all the time out on the field. At this one game last fall- I was there for the paper- and he had to make this really difficult shot and, well, he…” Harry becomes aware that everyone is staring at him, including Louis. “I just think he’d be good at it, that’s all.”

“If you’re ever running a campaign, Mr. Tomlinson, you know who to hire,” Mr. Winston chuckles. He writes Louis’ name underneath Veronicas.

Mr. Winston asks for a few more nomination. Someone throws out Taylor, who declines because ‘I don’t need it like some other people might.’

Harry wants to shout at her. Wasn’t she listening to him? Louis doesn’t need this. He’s captain of the soccer team!

Mr. Winston makes them all put their heads down for the voting and Harry puts his face into his elbow and hopes as hard as he can for Louis.

Everyone, especially Veronica, should see how amazing of a leader he can be. Harry doubts Veronica actually wants the job, anyway. Also, she’d probably let them pick only depressing pieces for the ‘zine, so Harry decides he absolutely does not want her to win. It’d be bad for his chances of making it in this year.

“Everyone for Veronica, hands in the air,” Mr. Winston says.

Then, Mr. Aurand mutters, “Tomlinson, put your head down.”

“But this hat is-”

“Head down, Tomlinson,” Mr. Aurand replies, more firmly.

“Alright, I’ve gotten the count. You can put your hands down. Everyone for Mr. Tomlinson, hands in the air.”

Harry’s hand shoots up. He hears some rustling. Louis is going to win, he can feel it!

“Tomlinson!” Mr. Aurand’s chair creeks.

“I’m not doing anything,” Louis insists.

“Heads up. Veronica is our very clear victor. Ms. Malik, if you could stay after for a few minutes we can talk about your responsibilities.” Mr. Winston’s back is to them as he erases the names from the board.

Harry didn’t think his heart could sink any lower, but it does when Louis delcares, “Good job, Veronica. I voted for you.”

Veronica turns and gives him a nod. “I voted for you, too.”

Louis flushes. Maybe Harry’s plan worked, after all. At least, now Veronica is paying attention to Louis, not Liam.

The small, satisfied smile Louis wears until dismissal doesn’t make Harry feel as good as he’d hoped.

~

Saturday, August 15

When he arrives for the movie party, Liam’s mom shows Harry to the top of the stairs. “They’re down there, dear,” she says.

Harry could have guessed. He can hear Louis’ voice from the top step.

Louis is always so loud. Harry kind of likes that about him.

Right now, he’s (loudly) saying, “Liam, it has to be a romantic film. How are you going to get laid if we don’t put on something romantic. That’s what chicks dig.”

Harry had tried to put the Louis/Veronica/Liam love triangle out of his mind. If he thought about it too hard, it’d show on his face and his mom would ask him about it and he’d never be able to keep it from her. Or worse, Gemma would figure something out. She was brutal when she found out his crushes, following them on twitter and sending Harry texts gushing about their looks at inopportune times.  

“She liked my comic. I’m sure she’ll like an action film. I think she’s a fangirl or something,” Liam explains and he’s right.

Veronica’s a total fangirl and would love to watch Spiderman or whatever awful action movie Liam has picked out.  

However, Harry would much prefer a romantic film so he hurries down and joins the fray. “What movie have you chosen?”

“I was thinking Batman Forever,” Liam says, opening the case. He and Louis are the only ones here yet.

“But that’s so dark,” Harry moans.

Louis frowns and closes the DVD case on Liam’s hand. “Case closed. Choose something happy and romantic. Girls, like happy and romantic, right, Harry?”

Some girls do, Harry supposes. Probably not Veronica.

“I like happy and romantic,” he says, instead of answering, because he does and he definitely does not have the patience for a superhero movie.

But then he thinks about Louis’ love for Veronica and how he’d vowed to try and help him. “So, um, what if we went for artsy and romantic.”

“Sounds boring,” Liam says. He’s still holding onto the Batman Forever case.

Louis pulls out another case. “What about this? You think this’ll make people happy? Do you like it?”

It’s a French film with a woman’s face on the cover. Harry’s never heard of it before. He’d rather find a romantic comedy, even something he’s already seen on Netflix, but he knows that’s not gonna meet the Veronica test.

This might, though, and it’s probably better than Batman Forever, so he nods. “I think she’ll like that.”

“Who?” Louis asks.

Harry’s eyes widen. Maybe he’s not supposed to know about the bet or the crush.

Harry bites his lip and waits a moment, but Louis does not look away.

“The girls that are coming?” Harry ventures. “To watch with us?”

At that moment, the doorbell rings. Liam laughs, “That must be them. You’re magic, Harry.”

From upstairs, they hear Liam’s mom say, obviously much louder than necessary, far louder than she’d greeted Harry, at least, “Well, hello, girls!”   

“Shit,” Liam says, his face falling as he scrambles to his feet and dashes up the stairs. Louis and Harry are left looking at each other, the French movie still sitting between them.

“Back to the important question of the moment,” Louis mutters, tapping the movie case. “Do you want to watch this movie?”

Harry’s already agreed, so he doesn’t know why Louis’ asking again. Maybe he’s hoping Harry will say, ‘no.’ Maybe he doesn’t want to watch the movie. Maybe he liked ‘Batman Forever’ better.

Harry shrugs.

“What are we watching?” Perrie asks, appearing to hover above them. “Oh! I’ve been wanting to see that one. Veronica, wasn’t I just saying that I wanted to watch that?”

Veronica is not paying attention she’s walking with Liam over to the cabinet with all the DVDs. “Iron Man, Batman, Spiderman, the Avengers… do you have X-Men?”

Liam clears his throat. “Um, it’s…”

“We’re watching this one. Harry and Perrie and I already decided. You’ll like it, Veronica.”

Veronica whirls around and lifts a brow in Louis’ direction. “Does anyone here even take French?”

“I do,” Liam says. He did, Harry knows, because they’d been in the same class last year, Liam having failed it the previous year. “And so does Harry. That’s why my mom bought that movie. She thought it’d help me learn the language better.”

“Didn’t work, did it, Payno?” Louis asks.

Liam’s bushy brows come together. He glances at Veronica. “I can say lots of things in French. Very romantic things.”

Perrie walks over and takes the DVD case out of Louis’ hands. “Let’s just put it on.”

~

Louis’ shifts, pulling a leg up underneath himself. Then, he stretches his back and begins to tap his toe. He hasn’t stopped moving since he’d sat down beside Harry on the couch.

Harry’s very conscious of how the few inches between them keep growing and shrinking, as his body twists and squirms.

It’s distracting mostly because Harry knows if Louis extended his leg just a little bit or if rolled over to lie down or if he put his arm up and out-- well, if he moved just so, they’d touch.

Harry wonders if he always has such a difficult time getting comfortable. He’s considering asking when Louis’ leans over to whisper in his ear.

“Are you understanding any of this?”

His breath tickles Harry’s neck.

Harry turns and their noses are very close. “I’m trying to read the subtitles.”

Louis nods and his fringe falls forward into his eyes. “Good for you. Too bad I can’t read. Left my glasses at home.”

From her place on the floor, Veronica calls out, “Would you shut up, Tomlinson. I thought you wanted to watch this movie after all.”

Louis’ face goes sour and he silently mimics her.

Harry giggles and she turns around to look at them. “You, too, Harry.”

Louis shifts away from Harry, smiling broadly at her, and Harry remembers that despite the fact that Louis’ been so friendly with him, he’s definitely trying to win Veronica over.

He sighs and tries to refocus on the movie.

Not a minute later, the leather beneath him begins to vibrate.

“Shit,” Louis mutters, arching his back and digging his hand into his jeans’ pocket. He finally retrieves his phone. By now, it’s stopped ringing and everyone is looking at him. “Fucking hell. I have to take this.”

He doesn’t explain any further before dashing up the stairs.

“Probably his mom. She doesn’t like to text,” Liam says, rewinding the movie a bit.

~

Louis is gone for a long time. Five, ten, fifteen minutes and Harry has decided the movie they’re watching is worthless. The dialogue is simply too much and too fast to read in subtitles, especially on a weekend in the middle of the summer.

And Louis is gone.

Harry wants to chase after him, but he doesn’t want to be obvious about it. “Um, Liam,” Harry murmurs.

Liam pauses the movie.

Perrie lets out a huge, put upon sigh.

“What?” Liam turns his body, but not far enough to make eye contact with Harry. He’s looking at Veronica. And she’s looking back.

“Do you have a bathroom upstairs. And like a glass I can use for water?”

“Yup,” Liam answers and unpauses the movie.

If he actually had to use the toilet Liam’s response would have been utterly useless. Seeing as all he actually wants is to chase after Louis, Harry lets it slide.

Harry makes his way upstairs, but after that he’s not sure where to go. Louis’ nowhere in sight and Harry can’t hear him talking to anyone.

He turns a corner and then another and then he’s standing in the kitchen. Liam’s mom sits at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle, Facebook open a laptop beside her.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” she asks.

Harry chews his lip. He wants to ask where Louis went, but, like, maybe that’s rude. The call Louis’d taken had seemed urgent and personal.

“Do you want something to eat? To drink?”

“Um,” Harry says. “Water, maybe? And do you know if Louis is okay? Someone called and he ran upstairs and I didn’t know if something happened…”

Liam’s mom laughs as she walks over to the sink to fill Harry a glass of water. She opens the freezer and drops in a couple of ice cubes. “Here you go, sweetie,” she says, handing it to him. “I think Louis went upstairs to Liam’s room. And don’t worry. It’s probably just his mom calling to say goodnight. She’s done that every overnight since he was in elementary school. He used to get so teary eyed waiting for her call. They’re very close.”

Harry takes a sip of water and tries to imagine the Louis he knows crying over a bedtime ritual. It doesn’t fit, but he likes it.

“Where’s Liam’s room?” Harry asks. He doesn’t want to interrupt Louis, but he actually absolutely does. How long does saying goodnight to your mom take, anyway?

Liam’s mom pulls a bag of cheetos out of the a cupboard and hands it to Harry. Moving to the sink to fill another glass of water, she says, “Upstairs. Why don’t you take those with you? I only keep them here for him. Liam won’t touch them and neither will the girls.”

Harry manages to take the other glass of water from her and allows himself to be directed up the stairs.

Liam’s door is shut and has a lifesize poster of Batman on it. Harry knocks, softly, not wanting to jostle the water in his hand.

“Go away,” Louis shouts. There’s music in the background. Harry knocks again. The music changes abruptly and Louis opens the door.

He smiles when he sees Harry. “Harold!” he coos. He grabs the cheetos. “You brought these for me?”

“Actually,” Harry stammers. “Liam’s mom…”

“Karen’s an angel,” Louis says, cutting him off.

Harry peers around him and into Liam’s room. It’s very clean, but it smells a little like dirty gym clothes. Against one wall, he has a large TV. A paused videogame flashes on the screen. That’s where the music is coming from, Harry realizes.

Louis has plopped onto Liam’s bed and is opening the bag of cheetos. “Staying for a while?”

Harry nods and takes a step into the room. “I mean, if that’s okay and, um, you don’t think Liam would mind…”

Louis pats the comforter beside him. “Of course. I hang out here all the time.”

Harry sits in the spot Louis has indicated. He’s still holding the two glasses of water. He takes a sip out of one of them.

“Sorry, I had to run out like that. Family emergency,” Louis says, leaning back onto a pile of pillows and stuffing a handful of orange crumbs into his mouth.

Harry looks at the video game still flashing on the screen. “Do your family emergencies usually involve Grand Theft Auto?”

Louis makes a face. “How else am I supposed to get an assault rifle?” He offers a handful of cheetos to Harry.

Harry shakes his head and offers him the spare glass of water.

Louis nods to a small table. “Put it there.” On it are a bottle of lotion and pile of scrunched up kleenexes. Harry tries not to think too deeply about them.

“Relax,” Louis says, scooting over and making room for Harry beside him on the pillows. Harry sets his own glass down and does as Louis says. Their shoulders touch.

“Is everyone okay?” He asks. Maybe Mrs. Payne was wrong. Maybe Louis’ family had had an emergency. It would explain why Louis didn’t want to come back downstairs.

Louis takes another bite bit of cheetos and doesn’t answer.

“Like, at home?” Harry clarifies.

Louis shimmies a little against the pillow and then turns onto his side so he’s facing Harry. Harry follows suit, rolling over so that they’re looking into each other’s eyes.

Louis nods. “Yeah. Honestly, it was just my mom calling to say goodnight.”

Their mouths are so close that Harry can practically taste the cheetos Louis has just eaten. He’s not really in the mood for cheetos, but, he supposes, if he’s going to eat them, he would prefer to eat them from Louis Tomlinson’s mouth.

Or, actually, wait. That’s gross. Sort of. Harry doesn’t know. What he does know is that Louis’ eyes have flecks of grey and deep blue in them and that Louis has a dusting of very, very faint freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“You didn’t want to finish watching that movie?” Louis asks.

Harry’s eyes flick down to Louis’ lips and he has to take a moment to process the words. “No,” he says. “I couldn’t follow it.”

“I’m sorry.” Louis swallows and his eyes dart up, away from Harry’s face. “I thought you would like it. With the French and everything.”

His words come out soft and tight. For a moment, Harry lets himself believe that Louis had chosen that movie with him in mind and not Veronica.

He smiles and takes a breath. “It’s okay. I do like French, but French films are overrated.”

Louis eyes close as he laughs and his eyelashes fan out over his cheeks. They’re so long. Harry took a picture of him after scoring a goal last year, which captured almost the exact same expression. Mr. Aurand hadn’t wanted it in the paper, but Harry’d emailed himself a copy. He keeps all his photos of Louis in a special folder on his computer, which he knows is creepy.

But, like, Louis is just. so. beautiful.

“A lot of french things are overrated,” Louis says.

Harry realizes that he likes watching Louis’ lips form words. Also, he agrees, “French fries, , french braids, french toast, french horns, french accents, french…”

Harry trails off trying to think of more french things.

The silence hangs between them and Harry’s eyes return to Louis’ lips. He notices a little dot of orange cheeto goo on the corner of Louis’ mouth.

“Kissing,” Louis says.

“What?” Harry asks, breathlessly. Is Louis thinking about kissing him, too? It doesn’t seem possible. And yet.. their lips are so close, close enough that Harry already knows Louis’ tongue will be the flavor of processed cheese.

“French kissing is overrated,” Louis says.

“Oh,” Harry replies. He disagrees, but he doesn’t want to say so. Actually, he does want to say so. “I like french kissing.”

Louis licks his lips. “It’s so wet.”

That’s kind of the point, Harry thinks. “You don’t like wet?”

“No one likes a tongue down their throat,” Louis answers. His fingers have begun to run up and down the seam on the side of Harry’s pant leg.

“Who said anything about a tongue down your throat? Nobody’s tongue should be down anyone’s throat.” Harry frowns. Maybe Louis’ just had some really bad french kisses.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Louis nods, and his nose grazes Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s heart is pounding and he cannot believe his own boldness, when he says, “Maybe you need to try with someone who isn’t so violent.”

Louis rubs their noses together. Harry’s breath is caught in his throat and he’s got a boner, pressing up against the crotch of his pants.

Even if he doesn’t read the want behind Harry’s words, all Louis has to do is look down and this small friendship they’ve built will be over.

Except that Louis says, “Are you offering?”

“Um…” Harry doesn’t know what the right answer is. He thinks if he says yes, Louis will kiss him. But, also, maybe he’s asking because he’s creeped out. Louis is into Veronica, after all. So even if he did kiss Harry, wouldn’t Harry only be his second choice?

Harry’s not sure he’s up to being second choice. Not even for his all time crush Louis Tomlinson.

Louis’ head moves back infinitesimally. “You weren’t. Oh my god, you weren’t offering. I’m sorry I-”

Harry closes the space between them. Louis’ lips are hot against his own and they do, indeed, taste bitter and salty, like someone somewhere’s approximation of cheese.

Harry doesn’t care because he’s on a mission. He’s doing this to teach Louis how not overrated french kissing can be. If you do it right. So he needs to focus on doing it right.

As soon as his tongue darts out, Louis parts his lips. Louis’ own tongue slides alongside Harry’s with just a touch too much force. So Harry works hard to keep his touch light, teasing Louis by running over his teeth.

Louis gasps and slots their legs together. Harry’s cock jumps in a thrill of relief and anticipation when he feels that Louis is just as aroused as he is.  

He begins to thrust into Louis’ mouth in smooth, easy strokes, strokes that Louis begins to match with his hips.

They’re rutting and gasping when a knock pounds on the door, cutting through the dull roar of blood pounding in Harry’s ears and the eerily loud video game score.

Liam’s voice comes through the door. “If you are jerking off in my bed again…”

Harry freezes and then rolls onto the floor, so he’s hidden from Liam’s view when he opens the door.

“Oh my god, you really were. You really were about to get off in my bed again.”

“You keep the supplies so handy,” Louis taunts. His voice catches and the words come out stilted. “I couldn’t watch any more of that goddawful movie.”

“Oh my god, Louis. You chose that movie because you said Harry would- have you seen Harry by the way?”

The bag of cheetos crumples. Harry wants to know if Louis’ eating them or Liam, despite his mom’s earlier claim, because Harry has a hard time believing that anyone doesn’t like cheetos?

“Nope, no idea. Your mom brought me these,” Louis says. He sounds like his mouth is full.

“He’s in here. He’s in my closet,” Liam moans. “You weren’t jerking off in my bed, you were having sex in my bed. I haven’t even had sex in my bed.”

“There, there. There’s still time,” Louis coos. “You’ve got a whole nother year of high school ahead of you.”

“I came up to say that we’re switching movies. Nobody likes that french bs.” Liam sounds tired.

Harry pops his head up. “We weren’t having sex. We’re just friends. So…” This seems important to say, for Louis’ sake. Harry doesn’t want Liam to get the impression that Louis has given up on Veronica.

“Maybe you should tell Louis’ boner that, then,” Liam says. He grins to himself afterward, clearly pleased at the insult. “Now, come on, both of you. You’re not allowed in my room by yourself anymore, Louis.”

“I wasn’t by myself,” Louis argues, but he’s standing up and straightening his hair in the mirror above Liam’s dresser.

“You know what I mean,” Liam says.

Harry stands, too, and follows them both back downstairs. He’s not sure what just happened between him and Louis and whether it’s changed anything. He assumes it hasn’t, just two friends helping each other out. And, okay, he’s never had a friend he’s even considered helping out in that way before, but he’s sure it’s a thing some friends do.

When they return downstairs, the opening credits of one of the Batman movies are beginning.

Harry’s stomach turns. He kind of hates Batman.

Veronica is on the couch, in the spot Louis was occupying before and so Louis moves to sit where Harry was sitting, right beside her.

Of course, he does.

Harry’s hand moves to the phone in his pocket. Maybe he should call his mom and have her pick him up. No point in watching a movie he doesn’t like while the boy he does like flirts with someone else.

But then again, Harry’s no baby and he knew what he was getting into tonight. He moves to sit on the floor, but Louis surprises him. “Harry, come on. There’s room here.”

He moves to scootch up close to Veronica, who smiles at him. The space between Louis and the arm of the couch will just barely fit Harry.

He’ll be uncomfortable, but he’ll also still be pressed up to Louis’ side and the latter definitely outweighs the former.

As soon as Harry slips into the seat beside him, Louis begins to whisper commentary about the film into Harry’s ear.

It’s hilarious. Louis is hilarious. And with Louis’ little jibes and unnecessary pieces of backstory, the movie is way better than Harry expects.

Although, maybe the thing that’s better is not the film, but being close to Louis, the press of Louis’ warm arm against Harry’s own and the hot touch of Louis’ breath against Harry’s ear.

~

Sunday, August 16

When Harry finishes his shift, he clocks out, hangs up his apron, and marches straight over to the small table by the window where Louis has been sitting for the last two hours.

Louis looks up, smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Well, hello, Harold. It’s about time you noticed me.”

“I noticed you as soon as you walked in,” Harry blurts out.

“You were in the kitchen,” Louis replies, kicking out the chair across from him. “Sit down and stop flattering me.”

But Harry can’t stop. Maybe it’s because he also can’t stop thinking about the french kiss they shared or maybe it’s because he’s liked Louis for so long. “I always notice you,” he says.

He sits down then, certain he’s bright pink.

Louis is pink, too, and Harry figures receiving stalkerish compliments is uncomfortable, especially if they’re from people you’re not equally enamored with. Harry needs to work on toning it back.

“You don’t,” Louis disagrees, pushing his fringe off his face. “But you should.”

Their eyes meet and Harry knows that Louis is thinking of the kiss. And now he’s also thinking of the kiss. And imagining that something similar might happen. Right now. In the middle of busy coffee shop. In front of a window that looks out onto their town’s main drag.

If that happened, by tomorrow basically the whole world would know that the amazing Louis Tomlinson kissed English nerd Harry Styles.

So it’s definitely not happening.

Louis looks away. “For example, you didn’t notice me when I came in on Thursday, with my sister.”

Harry had noticed, obviously, because Louis is always in the shop on Thursday with his sister. Harry spent the fifteen minutes before he arrived peaking around the kitchen door every time the bells on the door to cafe tinkled.

He hadn’t said anything because he had been working and because he doesn’t want to seem nearly as obsessed as he is.

He doesn’t know whether or not tell Louis any of this.

Probably not.

He taps the paper in front of Louis, instead, letting the subject drop. “What are you writing?”

“A poem,” Louis says, moving his hands to cover the words.

Obviously. Harry could have guessed that, or song lyrics, from the way the words fell from line to line.

“About?” Harry asks, trying to tug the paper out of Louis’ grasp.

“Shoo!” Louis says. “It’s a love poem.”

“I love love!” Harry exclaims. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. Louis’ whispers from last night are still tingling down his spine. That could be it. Or maybe it’s the extra shot he’d put in his latte he’d had at the end of shift. Probably that.

Louis frowns at him. “I do, too. But this is personal. Like based on personal experience, just like Taylor and Mr. Winston suggested.”

Harry tries not to deflate as an image of Veronica flits through his mind. “Even better!” he says. “Let me see.”

“It’d be obvious who it’s about, though,” Louis tells him, still frowning.

Harry sets his palms on the table and leans forward. “I know who you like, Louis. It’s not a secret. Let me see.”

Louis’ jaw drops. “You do?”

“Yeah, everyone does. It’s not exactly a secret,” Harry tells him. He doesn’t really want to talk about Louis’ crush. He just wants to read his love poem and pretend, for a moment, that Louis’d written it for him.

Louis touches his fringe. “You don’t know who it is. I’d know if you knew.”

“Whatever,” Harry says, tired of arguing. “Just let me see.”

“No, it’s private,” Louis returns the paper to the table, flips it over, and puts his hand on top of it.

Private. The word rings in Harry’s head. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Louis asks, shifting in his chair.

“It’s a sex poem!” Harry cackles. “You’re writing a sex poem!”

“I’m going to turn this in!” Louis exclaims.

Harry thinks his indignation is awfully hypocritical. “You made me read a sex poem aloud, in front of everyone!”

“I didn’t make you do that, Harold,” Louis says, even though he sort of actually did. How could Harry have said no? “Anyway, that wasn’t for a grade.”

Harry rolls his eyes and reaches for the paper again. “Neither is this.”

“I want it go in the magazine!” Louis says. “Everyone will know I wrote it.”

Harry pouts. “Doesn’t sound very private to me. I’m going to read it eventually.”

Louis picks at his clothes. “I know, but it’s not ready yet.” His mouth twists. “I can’t believe you thought I was writing a sex poem. I said I was writing a love poem.”

Harry shrugs, feeling his smile widen. “Same thing for a lot of people.”

“Like you?” Louis raises a brow.

Harry nods. He leans even farther across the table. “I don’t get why we shouldn’t be able to read them in class. The best writing is about things the author is passionate about and lots of authors are passionate about sex.”

Louis leans in now, too, so Harry can see his freckles. His heart begins to race.

Louis asks, “Like you?”

Harry finds himself nodding. “Yeah, like me. Nothing to be ashamed about. I could write whole books of poetry about sex.”

Louis licks his lips and nods. “A man after my own heart. Let’s hear it.’

He tears a new sheet of paper from his notebook and draws a dick on the title line. Beside it, he writes, HARRY STYLES’ SEX POEM.

“Well, first, we have to think of a good metaphor,” Harry explains. His eyes flick to Louis’ which are on the dick he’s drawn.

Harry thinks about his own dick and it twitches. He realizes that he is at Sara’s, his second home for the last two years, writing a sex poem with Louis Tomlinson, the single sexiest person he’s ever met.

What is his life even?!

“Metaphors are overrated,” Louis says.

“Like french kissing?” Harry asks before he can stop himself. He swore he’d never bring that up, not if Louis didn’t first.

Louis draws a few dark lines on the page. “Turns out, french kissing is pretty great.”

Harry’s breath catches. Louis liked it. Louis Tomlinson basically just said that he’d liked kissing him, Harry Edward Styles.

Harry can barely contain himself. His skin feels like it’s on fire. He wants to shout. Or text Niall. He doesn’t know. He’s never felt so excited in his life.

“Oh?” Harry asks.

Louis looks at him and nods. Then, he looks back down at the paper. “Sex metaphors are overrated, though, I’m sure of it. I don’t understand why we can’t just write, you make my dick hard.”

Harry glances around the coffee shop to see if anyone is listening to them. He doesn’t think so. But Louis is so loud. And he’d just said, ‘You make my dick hard.’ What if someone had heard? What if they thought he’d been talking to Harry about his actual dick being actually hard? Right actually now?

They’d probably wonder. They’d probably imagine Louis’ dick, just like Harry is and they’d probably wonder if he’s being honest. If he’s actually chubbed up in his pants, right here in this coffee shop.

Harry takes a shaky breath and wills his own semi to stay under control. “You can’t just say that. Just like you can’t just say ‘i love you’ in the poem. You have to use imagery and metaphors to describe what that love feels like. It’s the same with sex. You have to use imagery and metaphors to describe what sex feels like.”

Louis pushes closer across the table so that their elbows brush. He sets his chin on his folded hands and licks his lips. Harry’s dick jumps in his pants.

He wants to look down to see how obvious it is, but he can’t look away from Louis’ face. “It feels like my cock is hard, ready to shoot off at the lightest touch from someone else’s fingers, or maybe mouth. That’s the only important image.”

Harry’s breathing is ragged, but so is Louis’. Carefully, Harry mimics Louis’ position, chin on knuckles. Their lips are inches away.

“You have to think of a creative way to say that. I mean, it’s sounds pretty potent. Like a volcano, maybe?” Harry tries to think of other images, but his mind feels foggy.

All his blood is in his dick.

“More violent than that,” Louis says. “What about a loaded gun?”

Harry gasps. It’s so dangerous. So perfect. So, “Fuck, yeah,” Harry stutters. “That’s really good.”

Louis nods and sits back. His hands are shaking as he writes, i’m a loaded gun, on the first line of the paper.

“What’s next?” Louis asks.

Harry takes a deep shaky breath and tries his hand at expanding the metaphor.

They struggle through the rest of poem. It’s slow going, probably because Harry is so turned on. Louis might be, too. Harry thinks he is, but it doesn’t really make much sense, why he would be here at Sara’s on a lazy Sunday afternoon, instead of out pursuing Veronica or playing soccer or kicking Liam’s ass at video games.

Harry doesn’t ask, though, because he doesn’t want to remind Louis of how crazy this is. He has a sneaking suspicion that Louis is practicing. Like, maybe he’s seducing Harry, so he’ll know what to do when he gets his chance with Veronica.

Harry’s not sure if that’s okay with him.

But he’s not about to stop writing a sex poem with his crush because his crush might just be writing it about someone else.

Like, they were just talking about tasting people. Harry watched Louis’ tongue dart out to wet his lips as he was describing how much he wanted to rim someone.

In a coffee shop. In the middle of the day.

When they’re finished with the poem, Harry has to dart into the bathroom to get himself off. He knows he won’t be able to have a normal conversation with Louis on the walk home otherwise.

He comes quickly, but when he returns to the table. Louis’ gone. He’s left a note though.

You’re a passionate man, Harold. See you tomorrow.

What does that even mean?

~

Monday, August 17

The wire basket is already half full when Harry finally walks up to it. For the last five minutes he’s been watching closely from his desk as people drop their work into it. He regrets choosing a seat so far away from the door because he can’t really see what anyone else is turning in.

He’s not, like, nosy or anything. He just wants to gage how much work other people have been putting into this.

Harry’s own work (a small collection: one poem and five photographs) is in a manila folder he stole from his stepdad’s home office.  He considers placing the whole thing in the basket, keeping his work a secret from other snooping eyes, but then decides against it.

He doesn’t want to be weird.

Just as he’s pulling out the last photograph and setting it on top of the stack, someone moves in behind him and smacks him across the back.

“Harry!” Louis' voice is way too loud this early on a Monday morning, especially considering the mostly full classroom is otherwise quiet and Harry jumps a little. “What have you got there?”

Louis reaches around to pick up the photo. Harry doesn’t stop him, but he kind of wants to. Slowly, he turns around to look at Louis looking at the photo.

“It’s not my best,” Harry admits. In his opinion, the photo he’d taken of Louis celebrating his winning goal against their rival soccer team is his very best. He wonders if Louis’d liked it, if his mom had stuck it to their fridge.

Louis’ finger traces the line of train track across the page. “Very cool. Is this behind the old warehouses over off of Second?”

Harry nods.

“What are you calling it?” He glances up to meet Harry’s eye.

Harry bites his lip and says, “Dunno.”

Louis frowns at him. “Well it has to have a title, Harold.”

Harry looks at the photo. He’s never really titled his photographs before, doesn’t really see the point. The picture tells the story well enough. He doesn’t want to disappoint Louis, though, so he asks. “What would you title it?”

Louis waves the page, thinking, and Harry has to restrain himself from grabbing it back. It’s just, Louis is being a little violent and Harry doesn’t want it to bend. This is the only printed copy he has to turn in.

“How about… Going Nowhere?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, the tracks are definitely going somewhere.”

Mr. Winston claps his hands together. “Alright. Time to get started. Gentlemen, return to your seats.”

Louis lays the photo on top of the stack with an appropriate amount of care. Then he retrieves several sheets of paper from his own backpack and puts them on top before following Harry back to their seats.

“Did you use the sex poem?” Harry whispers.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Louis hisses back.

“Mr. Tomlinson. Is there anything you want to share with the class? Because if not, close your mouth and we can begin.”

Louis straightens his shoulders and makes a face at Mr. Winston. “Go ahead,” he says.

“For your free write this morning, I want you to write about something that makes you angry. Nothing is more inspirational than anger. So try to remember the last time you wanted to punch someone or throw something. What was it that made you so livid? What did you want to say that you didn’t? What did you want to do? Lots of the most well regarded essays and stories of all time have been born out of anger. So this morning, I want you guys to rage for me.”

Harry opens his notebook and pulls out his pen. He writes What Makes Me Angry across the top of the page and then looks around the classroom. Almost everyone has already begun to write. From the looks of it, Mr. Winston is right: anger is very inspirational.

Harry considers his questions. But he cannot remember a time when he felt angry. Irritated, yes, and certainly frustrated, but never angry.

His eyes find Louis. He’s already filled half a page.

Maybe Harry doesn’t have the right emotional make-up to be a real writer.

~

“Alright. We need to follow a few guidelines when reading each other’s work.” Mr. Winston makes intentional eye contact with Louis.

They’ve moved their desks into a circle (Mr. Aurand’s idea) and are about to begin reading the through the overflowing basket of writing and art that now sits in front of Veronica.

Harry’s eager to peek into it, but Veronica’s eyes are focused on Mr. Winston as she twists a lock of of her long, black hair around her forefinger.

“Constructive criticism only,” Mr. Winston says. “We’ve been practicing that all week, so you should know what that means by now. However, when you don’t know who the author is, you might be more tempted to be cruel. Just remember that person is sitting in this circle with you, whether they choose to let us know who they are or not.”

“I thought you said we could leave the room,” Perrie interrupts. “If we didn’t want to hear people talk about it.”

“You may, that’s right,” Mr. Winston agrees easily. “But if you choose to do that, not only will you miss the constructive criticism, but everyone will know that the piece we’re reading is yours. I encourage you to remain anonymous and in the room, if you want the most honest and helpful feedback.”

Harry swallows. Even though Mr. Winston had explained all this to the group last Friday, Harry still hasn’t decided whether or not he’ll stay or go.

He doesn’t want to hear people talk shit about his poem. Especially not Louis.

But he also doesn’t want people to know that the shitty poem is his either. Especially not Louis.

The classroom is silent for several long seconds. Harry feels sick to his stomach. Beside him, Louis clicks his pen.

Harry wonders if Mr. Winston is enjoying the suspense; Harry supposes he does have a flare for drama.

“Malik, why don’t you pull one from the middle of the stack there?”  Mr. Aurand says. “Let’s get this party started.”

Veronica fingers the papers in front of her, eventually choosing one toward the top of the stack. Harry recognizes the grade of the paper right away.

He’d never expected that he’d need to make his decision so fast.

“Something Great.” Veronica reads the title with a smirk. “If the author wants to vacate the room, now’s your chance.”

No one moves.

Which, of course, they don’t. It’s Harry’s poem and he isn’t moving. Even if he wanted to, he’s stuck.

“I’m not sure if this is song lyrics or a poem. It’s pretty repetitive,” Veronica tells them, smoothing paper out on her desk.

Harry can see the white strip of tape Mr. Winston has used to cover his name. Thank god for that. He does not need Veronica’s judgmental gaze on him. Not right now.

“No editorializing,” Mr. Aurand mutters. Harry’s glad that he seems to have put his paper aside for the moment. “Just read the poem, first. Or let someone else do it.”

Veronica shrugs. She doesn’t apologize, though. “Who wants to read it?”

Beside him, Louis’ hand shoots into the air. “I will.”

Harry’s heart begins to pound. He should have left the room and headed straight for the bathroom. To throw up.

Louis spent all of yesterday afternoon writing poetry with Harry. He’ll know Harry’s style and voice. He’ll know that this poem is about him and then their friendship will be over and Louis won’t want his lovestruck stalker Harry doing the soccer stories in the school paper anymore and Harry’s future as a sports photojournalist will end before it’s really begun.

Louis’ eyes flick up and down the page. Harry tries to remember if Louis has ever seen his handwriting. He doesn’t think so.

But then Louis sends him a small smile and suddenly Harry doesn’t have any air in his lungs. In fact, he thinks that all the air has been sucked from the room, maybe from the whole world.

“I like this,” Louis says.

“Tomlinson,” Mr. Aurand says. “Did you not hear what I just said? No comments before the poem is read.”

Louis eyes are back on the poem and he’s still smiling.

Does he know?

Harry can’t exactly ask him, can he? Cause if he doesn’t know, that would give it away. Maybe Harry can sneak it in real casually like, who do you think wrote that first poem? Remember? The one you liked?

Even as he thinks the questions, he feels himself turning red. No way on earth he could be chill about that.

“See,” Louis says when he’s finished reading. “Really good. Inspiring.”

“I don’t get it,” Taylor says. “Was that last bit part of the poem?”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but catches himself just in time. Underneath his desk, his nails dig into his palms.

Louis glares at her, as Veronica says, “So guys, what was that poem about? What did you hear it saying?”

She smiles at Mr. Winston who sits back in his seat, folds his arms across his chest, and nods.

“The writer is in love with someone who doesn’t love them back. Bor-ing.” The girl who makes the comment is a freshmen. Harry doesn’t think she has room to judge, at such a young age. She’s probably never known real pining before.  

“Constructive criticism, please,” Mr. Winston reminds. “Would you want someone calling your writing boring?”

“If I were writing a poem, even a poem about unrequited love, it wouldn’t beboring,” the girl replies. “I’d do it in a creative way. I mean, no offense to whoever wrote the poem.”

Now, along with the nausea building in his stomach, Harry’s eyes are starting prick. He’s not a baby. They were equally mean about his work last year when he’d read it aloud for a workshop session. He can take it. He even expected it.

“How could you be more creative with the topic?” Mr. Aurand asks.

Harry wills himself to pay attention to the answer. He can learn from this. That’s why he’s here, after all.

“I mean, I don’t know about you,” Taylor smiles at the other girl. “But, personally, I’d probably use an extended metaphor, something that I’d never-”  

Louis interrupts, “I think it’s very creative. He uses lots of metaphors. So fuck off.”

How do you know it’s a ‘he’? Harry wants to ask so bad. He also never wants to look up from his desk ever again. Oh god.

“This person uses too many metaphors. Without much follow through. Lots of them don’t even really makes sense,” Veronica says.

Harry’s mouth fills with a bitter metallic taste. He’s bitten his lip so badly that it’s begun to bleed. He wants them to stop talking and just make their decision.

“I vote ‘yes,’” Louis says. Harry’s heart jumps a little in his chest.

“Me, too,” Niall says. “Love a good love story.” He does, too, Harry knows. He breathes out. Maybe his poem will get in, after all. Maybe.

“I’m sorry whoever wrote this, but I have to vote it into the ‘no’ pile,” Perrie says, wincing.

A soft murmur of agreement goes around the circle.

“Alright. If the discussion is closed, then let’s vote.” Veronica’s tone is surprisingly authoritative.

His poem does makes it into the ‘maybe’ pile, but only because Louis refuses to hand it back to Veronica unless she promises not to put it in the ‘no’ pile.

Harry suspects that she or Mr. Winston will put it where it belongs (in the trash) sometime between now and Thursday when it’s time to revisit the ‘maybe’s.

~

Tuesday, August 17

Harry likes the story, at first.

Like his poem, it’s about a young man who has deep and real and meaningful feelings for someone and that someone doesn’t even know who he is. Admittedly, the author does a better job of describing the experience than Harry’s mixed metaphors.

They describe the protagonist choosing his outfit for the day, brushing his teeth, eating his breakfast, all the while wondering about their would-be lover. What is she wearing today? Will she like what they’ve chosen? Does she brush her teeth before or after breakfast? If they kissed, what would she think about the flavor of his toothpaste? What’s her favorite cereal? Someday, when they’re married, will she cook them eggs for breakfast and bring it to him in bed? Afterwards, will she climb back into bed with him and…?

The guy’s best friend picks him up and they drive to school. On the way, he brings up his crush no less than five times. His friend makes him promise that today will be the day he will tell her. And so he does. Promise to tell her, that is.

Harry’s stomach flutters in anticipation. He becomes convinced that the crush’s response in the story will be a sign. Her reaction will be Louis’ reaction, should Harry ever gather the courage to say anything to Louis.

At the end of the school day, the character finally glimpses the girl, across the street from the school, beginning her walk home. Eager to confess, he darts into the street.

“At that moment, a truck driver, looking down to send a quick text to his mom, smashes into him. The last thing he hears is her scream louder than the crunch of his own bones. “No, Peter!” She knows his name and he dies happily,” Perrie finishes.

And then she adds, “Oh my god. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever read.”

“I love it,” says Veronica. “Obviously it goes into the ‘yes’ pile.”  

“Yeah,” Perrie agrees, a little breathless. “I mean, it’s terrible. But it definitely should be in the magazine.”

“Awfully dark, don’t you think?” Liam says. “I’m all for car crashes, but that’s too much. It’s not very realistic, either. I mean, how many people does that kind of thing actually happen to?”

“It’s a story,” Taylor says. “It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“Besides,” Louis speaks up, turning toward Liam and raising his eyebrows. “I bet it happens to lots of people. Probably to you if you don’t get your act together.”

Liam’s jaw drops. “Shut up."

“It’s called karma, Liam. You don’t want it to get you,” Louis continues, eyes still on Liam.

“That’s not what karma is,” Veronica mutters.

“Yeah, Louis, not what karma is,” Liam agrees vehemently. “And it’s not going to happen to me or you or anyone.”

“It might,” Harry says. It’s the first time he’s spoken in one of these discussions and he’s surprised to hear the sound of his own voice.

Louis must be, too, because he whirls to look at Harry. “Thank you, Styles.”

Veronica taps her long fingernails against the desk. “So do we need to talk anymore about this? Sounds like Liam is the only one who disagrees.”

“You still have to vote,” Mr. Winston insists. “Even if you think it’ll be a yes.”

So they do. The poem makes it into the magazine, a unanimous ‘yes.’ Even Liam puts his hand up for it, in the end.

As he announces the results, Mr. Winston tells them, “This student did a good job of drawing you in and surprising you. As a novelist, I can tell you that you never want your readers to be able to predict the end.”

“Is that really a thing?” Louis murmurs to Harry. “Don’t you sometimes want your plot to make sense?”

Harry tries not to smile as he replies, “I wouldn’t know. I’m not a novelist.”

~

The student who wrote the story must’ve done something right, though, because Harry can’t stop thinking about the story.

He thinks about it on his walk to Sara’s and while he’s folding the flour into the muffin batter.

He’s thinking about while he munches a cookie on his break. He can picture the crash in his head. He knows if he were the main character his dying thoughts would not be happy, especially if his crush’s mutual interest were confirmed in that last moment.

He’s slurping up the bottom of his smoothie when the door to the shop opens, bells tinkling. A moment later, Caroline’s voice echoes back to Harry though the thin plastic doors separating the kitchen from the counter. “Louis, right? Harry’s friend?”

Harry throws his empty cup into the trash and checks his phone. He has seven more minutes on his break. Louis’ appearance is a sign.

Harry needs to make a move.

He takes a deep breath and walks out to meet his fate.

“Harold!” Louis cries, practically pulling a chocolate chip cookie out of Caroline’s hands. “You’re here! I was hoping you’d be working today.”

Harry chews his lip. “Yeah, I usually don’t work on Tuesdays, but Cara- do you know Cara? she’s in my grade? Anyway, she’s still on vacation with her family up north. I think they were taking their dog for the first time. So that should be really fun for--”

“That’s nice, Harry. Are you on break right now?”

Harry nods. He still had a few more things to say about Cara, but, actually in light of the other things he wants to say, they probably aren’t that important.

“Let’s sit down.” He doesn’t really have much time. Like, he’s not going to be hit by a truck or anything, but, as far as managers go, Caroline’s pretty strict about the length of his break time.

“So serious today, Harold,” Louis comments, but he follows, a bounce in his step.

“I can’t stop thinking about that story. You know, the one about the kid getting hit by the truck,” Harry says, once they’re both seated.

“Yeah, pretty gruesome,” Louis says, grinning widely.

Harry puts his elbows onto the table and leans across it to look directly into Louis’ eyes. “You have to tell her.”

“What?” Louis leans forward, mimicking Harry’s pose. “Who do I have to tell what now?”

“You have to tell, um, your crush, that you like her.” Harry’s flooded with relief, as soon as he says it. Louis needs to know that he’s got support in this.

Louis’ eyes widen and then he scowls. Looking down, he says, “Well, I thought my crush already knew that I liked them. I thought I was being obvious.”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head sadly. And then, he adds, “I mean, yeah, you’re obvious. But she doesn’t know. Actually, from how much you and I been hanging out, she probably thinks you’re into me.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Louis says, but he’s not laughing and he’s not looking at Harry. “Probably, yeah.”

Harry can understand being put out by the thought, but really, he hadn’t expected Louis’ mood to go this dark. Like, it’s his own fault that he hasn’t said anything. “So do it. Say something to her. She’ll probably be really excited. I mean, I know I would be, if I were her. You’re a really great guy.”

Louis meets Harry’s eyes and Harry doesn’t understand why he looks so upset. This is good news.

“Just who do you think my crush is?” Louis asks, the words flying out his mouth, sharp and pointed right at Harry.

“Oh come on, it’s obvious,” Harry says even though he can’t bring himself to say Veronica’s name aloud. “Everyone knows.”

“Obvious to everyone except my crush,” Louis clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Well, yeah,” Harry agrees.

Louis brushes his fringe off his face. “Apparently, you are right, Harry. Apparently, you are right.”

“So tell her! You don’t want to be that guy!” Harry insists. It’s so important that Louis be happy, that the person he loves, love him back. He deserves it.

“I’m not going to be run over by a truck, Harry, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Louis assures him.

“What about metaphorically, though?” Harry asks. He doesn’t understand why Louis’ being so stubborn about this. He seems like a generally confident guy, like he’d have no problem pursuing someone.

“Metaphorically, I already have been. Do you want my cookie? I’m not hungry anymore.” Louis holds the cookie out to Harry.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says, taking the cookie from him and biting into it.

“Harry!” Caroline calls. “Buzzer’s going off. The muffins need to come out of the oven.”

She’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone. Which, they’re not allowed to have their phones out when they’re clocked-in, but she’s, like, the queen of double standards, so.

He stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth. Through the crumbs, he says, “I’ve got to go back to work, but think about it.”

Louis shakes his head. “Trust me, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

He sounds heartbroken and Harry has no idea what he’s said to bring on this nasty mood. Louis’d been practically twinkling just a few minutes earlier.

“Harry!” Caroline calls and Harry rushes off. He doesn’t want the muffins to burn.

~

Wednesday, August 19

By the middle of the morning on Wednesday, the to-read pile has shrunk considerably and Harry is feeling less badly about himself.

Today, Louis has pulled his desk right up beside Harry’s in the circle, closer than any of the other desks. His elbow bumps Harry’s arms, often and at odd times. He has a piece of paper on his desk where’s he’s writing secret commentary which he keeps covered with his hands. Every couple of minutes he pushes it onto Harry’s desk to read.

Harry’s outbursts of laughter have earned him several glares from Mr. Winston.

Harry can’t help it, though. Louis is almost giddily happy and everything he writes is so funny. He’s clearly over his irritation from yesterday.  

In the back of Harry’s mind, he wonders if it’s because he followed Harry’s advice. Maybe he told Veronica about his crush and maybe she told him that she liked him back.

His heart feels full and heavy at the thought and he’s not sure if it’s a sad or a happy feeling.

“Oh, I think I’m going to like this one.” Veronica pulls a poem off the top of the stack. “It’s called, ‘Through the Dark.’”

Louis scribbles something on the paper and then shoves it onto Harry’s desk as he stands. “That’s mine,” he says.

Harry’s eyes close. Veronica already likes it and Louis wrote it and he wants people to know, mostly Veronica probably.

“Gonna stay or go?” Mr. Aurand asks. “How brave are you?”

Louis lifts his chin. “I want people to react honestly. So I’m going to leave, but not because I’m not brave.”

“I’m sure,” Mr. Aurand replies, chuckling.

Louis’ holds his shoulders high as he walks out of the room.

“I’m serious. I really like this one. I  want to read it,” Veronica asserts. She’s never done that before. She must know it’s about her. Harry’s stomach flips all the way upside down.

He looks down at the paper on the desk. He can’t read Louis’ scrawl at first, he’d clearly been in a hurry, but after a moment, Harry makes out, pay attention to this one, curly.

As if Harry could do anything else.

It’s a really lovely poem. Tears prick the back of Harry’s eyes. Louis will make Veronica such a good boyfriend. From the poem, and everything else Harry’s learned about him so far. What Louis wants more than anything is to support someone and love on someone.

Harry really wishes that someone could be him.

When she finishes reading, Veronica sets down the paper and smiles right at Harry. God, maybe she knows the role he’d played in setting her and Louis up.

Taking a deep breath, Harry wills himself not to cry.

Liam is the first to speak. “Oh. That’s beautiful. And beautifully read.” He’s beaming at Veronica.

Harry’s breath disappears. Liam doesn’t know. He has no idea that Veronica has chosen Louis over him. Someone should tell him. Harry should tell him.

But, no, wait, that doesn’t make sense. Louis should tell him, especially if they had a bet or whatever.

“I like it, too. It sounds more honest than that first poem he read last week.” Taylor looks around the classroom as she speaks. “Don’t you guys think so?”

“Let’s put it in the ‘yes’ pile,” Harry hears himself say. He doesn’t know where the words came from; he certainly didn’t think them first.

“Well,” Perrie begins. “I’m not so sure. Are we just saying this because we don’t want to hurt Louis’ feelings?”

Harry doesn’t want the discussion to continue. He wants Louis to come back into the classroom and for things to go back to the way they were before he realized that Louis’ had indeed taken his advice.

As if summoned by Harry’s longing, Louis’ head pops around the door. He says, “Are you done yet?”

“It’s been, like, three minutes,” Veronica replies, eyes back on the poem. “We’ll tell you when we’re done.”

“I agree with Harry,” Liam says. “I think it should be a ‘yes.’”

“Harry? You like it?” Louis asks, stepping fully into the classroom. His gaze is focused intently on Harry.

Harry shoots him a broad smile, a smile that Harry hopes says, of course, I love it because he his mouth can’t form the words.

When Louis doesn’t react, Harry manages to give him a thumbs up.

Louis brushes at his fringe. “I think I can sit through the vote. I’m feeling braver.”

Mr. Aurand snorts. “I bet you are.”

Harry doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the discussion because Louis’ giddiness has him practically bouncing in his seat. He grabs the paper off Harry’s desk ripping it a little in the process.

I followed your advice ! ! !  Louis puts the paper into Harry’s lap. Harry tries not to think about how everyone is watching them because they’re still talking about Louis and his poem.

Harry doesn’t answer until after they vote. (The poem gets a ‘yes,’ obviously.)

I know, he writes back.

Louis looks at him for a long moment and then frowns, all the energy rushing from his body. and??? you’re not happy?

Mr. Winston is glaring at them again. Harry is afraid of the note paper being confiscated and read aloud or something. Mr. Winston is not that kind of teacher, Harry doesn’t think, but Mr. Aurand might be, if provoked.

Very slowly, eyes on Perrie, who is reading another poem, Harry writes back, can you walk me home?

He’d rather talk about this aloud without other people around. Also, if Louis’ is walking him home, he’s not bonding with his new probably-girlfriend.

It’s not the friendliest move, but, to Harry’s surprise, Louis smile returns when he reads it.

“Yeah, alright,” he whispers loudly.

“Quiet, Tomlinson,” Mr. Aurand reprimands.

~

As soon as they’re out of earshot of the crowd of kids waiting for their parents to pick them up outside the school, Harry starts in, “Mr. Aurand was wrong. You’re very brave.”

Louis’ hand knocks into his and it sends a little shiver up his spine, which is so wrong under the circumstances.

“You think so?” Louis stutters. And then adds, “I mean, of course I am. He was just being a dick, like usual.”

“I don’t think he’s a dick, or he doesn’t really mean to be,” Harry argues. Mr. Aurand has really gone out of his way to support Harry.

“Anyway,” Louis says, skipping out ahead of Harry only to turn so that he’s walking backwards.  They’re facing each other and Louis’ smile is huge when he asks, “So you liked the poem?”

“I loved it,” Harry gushes. “It was perfect. You’re perfect.”

Louis stops walking. Harry almost runs into him, but his arms reach out to grip Harry’s shoulders, steadying him.

“And you thought I was brave?” Louis’ voice is sharp as he asks the question.

“I mean, yeah,” Harry nods. He’s very aware that Louis is in his space. He needs to take a fresh gulp of air before he says, “I could never speak like that in front of my crush.”

“Your crush?” Louis frowns. “You have a crush?” His hands fall from Harry’s arms.

Harry can’t take the intensity of his stare so he skirts around him to keep walking. “Yeah, I have a crush. I thought it was obvious when we were at Sara’s writing on Sunday. I mean, I thought it was obvious that I was thinking about those, um... thinking about sex-” he forces himself to say “-with someone in particular.”

Louis jogs a little to catch up with him. “What was that?” He looks genuinely curious like maybe he hadn’t heard what Harry’d said, but then Harry knows he’s a great actor.

“Nevermind. Yeah, I have a crush,” Harry still can’t look at him.

“Who is it? Is it Taylor? Everyone has a thing for Taylor,” Louis spits the words out. It’s clear that he does not have a thing for Taylor.

“No, it’s not Taylor,” Harry mutters. He and Taylor are finished, no matter how much beautiful, bitter poetry she writes.

Louis pinches his nipple. Hard.

Harry recoils, a little late, and says, “Hey! I’m being honest.”

Louis reaches for his other nipple but Harry’s quicker to duck out of the way this time. “Who is it?”

“I’m not telling,” Harry retorts.

“How hot are they? Are they hotter than me?” Louis asks.

Harry gapes at him. “You can’t just ask me that. And, like, isn’t hotness sort of personal taste?”

“You’re making this too complicated,” Louis mutters. “Just tell me who it is.”

Harry shakes his head. “We were talking about you reading that poem. So bravely. With your crush in the room.”

They’re getting close to Harry’s house and Harry doesn’t know if he’s brave enough even to invite Louis inside when they arrive.

“Was your crush in the room?” Louis asks.

Harry lets out a frustrated laugh. “Why do you care so much? It’s not a big deal. They don’t like me back.”

Louis reaches over and pulls one of his curls. “How do you know? You’re a very attractive person. You smell good and kiss alright.”

Harry stumbles and Louis wraps an arm around his waist to steady him. “I bet lots of people have crushes on you, Harold. And you don’t even know it.”

Harry frowns at him. And also moves just a little bit closer, so close their hips rub together when they walk. “I would know it, Louis. I’ve been told that I’m very good at reading people.”

Louis’ eyes narrow and he stops walking, causing Harry to almost trip again. “Let me be the judge of that. Tell me your crush.”

Harry realizes they’re standing outside his house. He wonders how Louis knew which one it was. He bites his lip and tries to think of a way out of answering Louis’ crush questions, like, forever.

“You don’t know them, okay. They don’t go to our school.”

Louis eyebrows pull together and he puts his hands on his hips. “I might still know them.”

“Louis,” Harry whines and begins up the walk to his house. Louis does not follow.

“Alright, have it your way. Don’t tell me who it is. I guess I can’t help you win them over, then,” Louis’ voice is airy and Harry sees what he’s trying to do.

“I guess you can’t,” he says, over his shoulder. It’s true, but he wishes so badly that it weren’t.

~

Thursday, August 20

“I know we’re supposed to be going through the maybe’s today and we will. But this was a late submission that Mr. Winston and I decided to let slide. I’ve made copies of it, so take one and pass them on,” Veronica tells them, handing a stack of papers to the Perrie.

As soon as Harry sees the top of the stack, he laughs. It’s the comic that Liam has been working on.

Next to him, Louis is nudging Liam with his elbow, his eyebrows waggling dramatically. “You proud of this? Care to tell us who it’s about?”

Harry examines the comic. In the first frame, a boy is walking to school. Green backpack, blue baseball cap, red shoes.

More loudly, Louis asks, “Who could this hero possibly be based off?”

A couple of kids snicker.

Liam’s pouts and pulls his blue baseball cap down over his eyes. His voiced edging toward a whine, when he admits, “I wrote this, with Veronica’s help. And, yeah, the superhero is a little bit like me.”

“His name is PayneMaster,” Louis adds. “In case you haven’t gotten there yet.”

Harry sees the name then, taking up the entire fourth frame.

“I’m the artist. It’s my prerogative. That’s what Veronica said and she’s in charge,” Liam says, sending a pleading look at Veronica. She’s not looking at him, though, her eyes are glued to the comic.

“As a novelist,” Mr. Winston tells them. “I’d say our heroes are almost always based off of ourselves. I know my heroes are.”

“I like that the girl really takes charge and helps him kick that red blob guy’s ass,” Jesy says.  

Harry flips the paper over. Said ‘girl’s’ long black hair fans out around her as her foot jabs into the villain's stomach or, like, middle area.

“That was Veronica’s idea,” Liam admits. “She really helped a lot on this. So I hope her name would go on it, too, if, um, you guys decide to put it in.”

“That’s not necessary,” Veronica says, eyes still firmly on her desk. “Liam did most of the drawing and came up with the basic story.”  

“Wait,” Louis says. “Wait, guys.”

His tone is gleeful. “Guys!”

The rumble of voices quiets and everyone looks at Louis.

He waggles his eyebrows. “If the hero is Liam, who is the girl? Like, is she someone we know, too?”

“Oh my god, Louis. I hate you.” Liam scowling at Louis, his hands fisted atop his desk. And Harry gets it. Harry loves Louis, but he is asking for his face to be bashed in.

Perrie shrieks. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” Her finger is tapping the lower right corner of the page.

She’s on the front side of the comic, and when Harry flips his paper he sees that she’s pointing to the panel where the heroine is introduced. She’s wearing very distinctive horn-rimmed glasses.

Harry’s eyes flick to Veronica, but her head is now buried in her arms, so he can’t see if she’s wearing exactly the same kind or if her glasses are just strikingly similar.

“Look at the last picture!” Niall squeals. “Look at them!”

Harry, a little dizzy now, turns his paper over again. The last frame is the little Liam and the little Veronica characters in a passionate embrace, their mouths smashed together, Liam’s hand very, very high up on Veronica’s thigh.

“You brought this on yourself, you know,” Louis says, patting Liam on the shoulder.

“You didn’t have to draw attention to it, oh my god,” Liam whines. “I will get you back for this. I swear to god, I will. I’ll mess your relationship up somehow.”

Louis pushes his fringe out of his face. “I’d like to see you try. Looks like I’m going to die alone, just me and my dog, Bruce.”

“Dogs only live like fifteen or twenty years, if you’re lucky,” Harry says.

“Thank you for that reminder, Harold.” Louis reaches over and twists one of Harry’s nipples. Harry squeals, as Louis turns back to Liam to add, “I guess I’m just going to die alone without even my dog for company.”

Mr. Aurand clears his throat. “Are we ready to vote?”

The comic makes it in, but Harry’s sure it’s either because lots of people feel bad for Veronica and Liam or because of Mr. Winston’s terrible bias.

~

Several minutes later, Harry’s grinning so widely he feels like his face is about to break. He looks down at his desk, trying to regather his thoughts and hide his pride a bit.

But, like.

Louis suggested his photo, the one of the train tracks, for the cover and the class unanimously agreed.

Unanimously.

“I don’t see a title on it, though,” Veronica is saying. “What’s it called, Harry?”

Harry looks up to see her turning the photo over and inspecting the back. Harry chews his lip and tries to think through her question.

But, like, it’s his photograph! On the cover of the summer literary magazine! This is his dream. Maybe he can’t write for shit, but he can take a picture that is worth a thousand words. And Louis is behind him one hundred percent. Louis Tomlinson. Soccer Star. Most Hilarious Member of the Junior- wait, now Senior- Class.

His all time crush Louis Tomlinson has kissed him and wrote sexy poetry with him and is now saying to him, “I told you that you had to title it. Didn’t I tell you that? You need to listen to me better.”

Harry laughs. It’s not even funny, but Louis is beaming at him, too, even as he’s scolding him. His eyes look soft and happy and proud. They may not be boyfriends, but they are definitely friends.

Well, Harry thinks, they are friends who are boys, so maybe they are boyfriends… Harry can pretend for the moment, anyway.

“Harry,” Taylor says, snapping her fingers. “Focus. What’s the title?”

She’s smiling, too, though, and it’s her sweet, genuine one. She hasn’t directed that one at him since last Valentines Day, at least.

“Well,” he stammers. He’s thought about this. After Louis’d teased him, he’d gone home and had a serious brainstorm, but the words just aren’t coming to him.

“I did come up with a title,” he says. “Even though I don’t think that it’s important that photos have them. Like, a picture is worth a thousand words, you know?”

“Very right,” Mr. Winston says. “If you don’t have a title, that’s okay.”

“He just said he has a title,” Louis spits out at Mr. Winston. Then, softer, to Harry, he says, “What is it, Curly?”

Harry takes a deep breath and then another. He tries to picture the notepad he’d been brainstorming on, but it’s hard to concentrate with everyone in the classroom watching him.

“Just a second,” Harry says, reaching into the bag by his side. He pulls out his little leather notebook and flips through it.

“We’re waiting,” Perrie says, tapping her nails on the desk.

“Give him a second, would you?” Louis hisses. “He’s looking, obviously. So fuck off.”

“Language, Tomlinson,” Mr. Aurand reminds.

“Sorry, Perrie,” Louis says, but as soon as Mr. Aurand looks away, he gives Perrie the finger.

Harry finally finds the page where he’s scribbled out his brainstorm. He sees the one he’d chosen circled in highlighter, but suddenly he’s not sure it’s good enough to title the whole magazine. He’s never been the best with words.

Louis leans over his shoulder to look. “One Direction,” he shouts. “Genius.”

“Oh, I like it,” Veronica agrees.

“Very good,” Mr. Winston nods. “It’s settled. Title of this year’s magazine will be One Direction.”

Harry lets out a breath.

“You did it,” Louis whispers as he reaches over to squeeze Harry’s thigh under the table.

Blood rushes up Harry’s leg. It’s a terrible time for a boner, but like, actually, it makes sense. Everything is perfect, better than his best wet dream.

~

By the time he’s loading the zucchini and cheese muffins into the oven, he’s come down from his photography-genius-everyone-likes-his-work-especially- Louis high.

He’s still a little giddy about his photo making the cover, but he’s starting to think about the rest of the morning. Specifically, he’s thinking about Liam’s comic. If Veronica had helped with it and the final product included them making out, why had Louis been so insistent on teasing them.

Harry doesn’t get it.

The bells on the door to the shop tinkle. Harry looks at the clock. It’s about the time that Louis and his sister usually arrive and the muffins have just gone in.

He ducks out of the kitchen and, sure enough, Louis and his sister are walking up to the counter talking to Caroline.

Louis spots him immediately. “Harry! The man of the moment!”

“Congratulations,” his sister says, smiling. “Louis told me that your photo is on the cover of the magazine and that you really want to be a photographer. He told me that you named it, too. One Direction. That’s so clever.”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond.

Luckily, Caroline does. “Louis sure has a lot to say about Harry.”

Louis’ sister cracks up. Through gasps of laughter, she manages to reply, “You don’t know the half of it.”

Harry can’t think about Louis talking about him to his family, not right now. If his suspicions about Liam and Veronica are true, his hopes for being Louis’ second choice might fly out of control.

So he focuses on what he’s sure of, “So Liam has a thing for Veronica?”

Louis cackles and nods. “You finally caught on to that?”

“Are you getting anything?” Caroline interrupts. “Or are you just here to gossip about who likes who?”

“Both,” Louis and his sister say at the same time. They look at each other and laugh harder. Harry’s laughing now, too.

“Why don’t you handle them, then,” Caroline says to Harry, before turning back to head into the kitchen.

“I mean,” Harry stammers. “I thought that Liam might like Veronica, but that comic was intense. And Veronica helped him. So…”

He doesn’t know how to force Louis to confront the fact that he’s losing this battle. He’s not sure he wants to, either.

“Yeah, I bet that steamy make out panel was her idea. Liam doesn’t have the balls for that,” Louis whispers, conspiratorially.

He doesn’t seem too put out by it. Or put out by it all, actually.

“It was kind of hot,” Harry hears himself saying. “You know, with the french kissing.”  His eyes flick to Louis’ sister and then back to Louis. He just sexy-flirted with Louis by mentioning a picture of Louis’ crush making out with someone else in front of Louis’ younger sister. What is wrong with him?!  

Louis shrugs. “Not as hot as our poem. I decided not to include it this time.”  

Louis’ just flirted back. Harry’s sure of it and he has no idea how to respond.

“What poem?” Louis’ sister asks.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” Louis pats her on the back of the neck.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll take a strawberry shake.”

Harry bites his lip. “And for you, Lou?”

Louis waggles his eyebrows. “Surprise me.”

~

Friday, August 21

Mr. Winston calls the classroom to attention relatively quickly considering they have nothing to do today. All the pieces for the ‘zine have already been submitted for printing so they’ll be ready in time for tonight’s Reading.

“I have a treat for you this morning,” Mr. Winston tells them. His arms are folded across his chest and he’s smiling.

Harry peeks around the front of the classroom, but he doesn’t see any donuts. He was really hoping for donuts.

“Now several of you have been asking for a long time, much longer than this camp, about my novel. I’ve just finished writing it and I’m sending it off to the publisher this weekend.”

“Why is he telling us this?” Louis mutters.

Harry shrugs. The truth is, Mr. Winston spends a considerable amount of class time talking about his novel. He doesn’t know why Louis is surprised.

“Since it’s finished, I thought you my like me to read you a bit of it,” Mr. Winston continues, smiling around the room at them.

“Yes!” Perrie squeals. “Finally! Thank you!”

They have been placing bets on what it’s about for a long time, Harry supposes. Beside him, Louis is rubbing his palms together, equally gleeful. He’s probably not looking forward to hearing the story. He’s probably looking forward giving Mr. Winston shit.

Harry’s looking forward to both.

Mr. Winston grins, picking up a thick stack of papers from his desk. “Beginning, middle or end?” he asks.

“Oh the end,” Louis says. “Definitely the end.”

“Okay, I thought maybe you’d want that,” Mr. Winston agrees, easily. Then he says, “So I’ll give you a little backstory first. It’s a love story and it takes place on a ship. I don’t know if you guys have heard about the Titanic? It set sail in 1914, biggest ship ever to attempt to cross the Atlantic.”

“We know it,” Veronica says, but she’s nodding encouragingly.

“So I’m going to pick up after we’ve hit the iceberg, when the heroes, Hank and Violet, are swimming in the freezing, open sea, awaiting rescue, or death.”

“This sounds familiar,” Louis murmurs out the side of his mouth.

Mr. Winston begins to read, “Hank’s voice is trembling with the cold which is working its way to his heart, but his eyes are unwavering as he speaks, ‘You must do me this honor... promise me you will survive... that you will never give up... no matter what happens... no matter how hopeless… promise me now, and never let go of that promise.’

“Violet replies, ‘I promise.’

“Voice weaker, Hank says again, ‘Never let go.’

“Violet whispers back, ‘I promise. I will never let go, Hank. I'll never let go.’ She grips his hand and they lie with their heads together. It is quiet now, except for the lapping of the water."

“I still can’t believe she let go!” Taylor interrupts. “She promised.”

Mr. Winston frowns at her. “I didn’t say she let go.”

“Well that’s what happens in the movie,” Taylor tells him. She’s right, too. Harry was thinking the same thing. Rose lets go of Jack and he drifts away. Harry can feel the tears building as he pictures it.

“What movie?” Mr. Winston asks. “This is from my manuscript.”

“Yeah, but you obviously copied it off the movie Titanic,” Veronica says.

Mr. Winston gapes at her. “Are you all accusing me of plagiarizing my novel? Even you, Veronica?”

“If it looks like a duck,” Harry hears Mr. Aurand murmur from behind his newspaper.

Louis quacks softly. Harry looks at him and they both giggle.

“I knew this was a bad idea. You have no respect for genuine creativity,” Mr. Winston tells them, tucking the stack of papers back into his briefcase.

“What are we going to do for the rest of the morning?” Niall asks. “Can we have free time?”

Mr. Winston shakes his head. “I was going to let you goof off, but after that display of ugliness, I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Ben,” Mr. Aurand says. “Give them a break. It’s summer.” Then, more softly, he adds, “And they weren’t wrong about your work.”

Mr. Winston huffs out a breath. “You assign them something, then.”

Mr. Aurand frowns and folds his paper. “Alright. Pair off and do a little bit of... peer editing… or something.”

Louis’ desk is facing Harry’s before Harry has a chance to blink. A very, very dangerous bubble of hope billows behind Harry’s ribcage.

Louis grins and places his hands flat on the desk. “So, about that crush situation. Let’s see the love poem you’re hoping to woo them with.”

Harry’s about to tell him that he’d turned it in for the ‘zine, but then he remembers that even though Louis’ had insisted he liked it, most of the class hadn’t. He kind of suspects Louis was lying to make the author feel better.

So, instead, he opens his notebook and flips through it until he comes to a few lines he’d jotted the other night. He passes it to Louis.

Louis’ eyes scan the page and then he whispers, “This is not dirty enough, Harold. I’m disappointed in you.”

“You think my crush would like a dirty poem?” Even as he asks it, he knows Louis is right. Louis clearly loves Harry’s dirty poems.

Harry pulls the notebook back onto his own desk and jots, i want to fuck and be fucked by you.

As soon as it’s on paper, he knows it’s too much, too quick. He drops his pen in his haste to scribble it out, but Louis grabs the notebook from him.

i want to be in and out, up and down, all around you, Louis writes back.

Harry hisses out a breath and meets Louis’ eyes. Louis shrugs and pushes his fringe out of his eyes. Aloud he says, “You okay, curly?”

Harry’s is not okay. Not at all. Through his shorts, he rubs a hand over his half-hard dick and swallows, trying to keep his breathing under control.  

Cautiously, he looks behind them. Mr. Aurand is keeping a close eye (and presumably ear) on them, so they need keep their dirty verses on the paper.

Your ass, Harry writes. Louis snatches the notebook out of Harry’s hands and sits on it. He’s just in time.

Mr. Winston stands beside Harry’s desk. “What are you two working on?” he asks.

Louis pulls a paper out of nowhere. “Just editing something old of mine.”

He sets the paper on Harry’s desk. Harry can see immediately that it’s a sonnet he’d written for an English class in the past. A big red ‘B’ is marked at the top.

“Looks like something you already finished,” Mr. Winston comments.

Louis smiles; lips wide, teeth gritted. “Thought Harry might help me improve it. Thought it had potential.”

Mr. Winston holds his chin between his thumb and forefinger for a moment and then nods. “Alright, but keep working.”

He continues to check on them periodically over the next hour or so and they have to keep the pretending to edit the sonnet. The sex poem they’d been working on stays firmly underneath Louis’ ass.

Between stilted conversation about Louis’ poem, Louis starts to ask Harry a barrage of questions about his crush.

They seem harmless at first.

“Does your crush play sports?” He asks, spinning his pen on his desk.

“Yes,” Harry answers.

“Does your crush get good grades at school?” Louis presses.

“Maybe. I mean, I think so. Actually, I really don’t know.” Harry stumbles through the answer. He thinks Louis is on the honor roll, but he’s never actually bothered to check.

“Well, that’s kind of an important thing to know about someone,” Louis tells him.

“Like, I think they do, but we’re not really close friends or anything. Or at least not at school.” Harry’s not sure if that’s true. He and Louis might be friends now. But he’s also not sure how else to explain why he wouldn’t know something like that about his crush.

“How long have you two known each other?” Louis asks.

“Since sixth grade,” Harry answers. He remembers the day that he met Louis. He’ll never forget how Louis stood up to a group of bullies picking on Harry for being well-dressed. His mom had told him a bowtie would make a good impression at middle school. Louis hadn’t even known Harry’s name, but he’d complimented him on his outfit and told those awful eighth grades to ‘fuck off.’

Louis had been cute, then, too, but not nearly as handsome as he is now. And Harry had liked hearing him say fuck. So badass, for a seventh grader.

“Have you liked them that long?”

“I don’t know. Sort of.” Harry shrugs and Louis gives him a long look before dropping the subject.

For a few minutes.

Because he starts back in again, later, saying, “Do they have long hair or short hair?”

Harry plays dumb. “Who?”

“Your crush!” Louis hisses. “What does their hair look like?”

“I don’t know,” Harry hisses back.

“What do you mean you don’t know what their hair looks like? Harold, are you being catfished?” Louis sounds very concerned.

“No, I mean I know what their hair looks like,” he admits.

“Tell me, then.” Louis scoots his chair closer.

Harry takes a deep breath. “I can’t tell you.”

Louis scowls. “Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we, Harold? We’ve swapped spit!”

Harry’s gaze finds Louis’ lips. This is not a good time to think about french kissing him again. He closes his eyes and concentrates

After a moment, he opens his eyes again and says, “Okay, I lied to you. You do know the person.”

Louis smacks his hand on the desk. “I knew it! Is it someone in this room?”

Harry looks at Louis’ lips again and decides that it’s now or never. He nods. “Yeah, he’s in this room.”

“He!” Louis crows. “Is it Niall?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Okay, is it Mr. Winston?” He sounds appalled.

“No! Oh my god! No!” Harry whisper shouts. “Don’t say that ever again.”

“Fine,” Louis grins and looks round the room. “It’s not… Is it Liam? God, it has to be Liam, then. You like Liam!”

His voice is way too loud. People are starting to look at them. Harry snaps, “No, Louis, it’s not Liam. Okay?”

“Oh,” Louis says. And then his eyes widen. Aside from Mr. Aurand, he's the only other 'he' in the room. “Oh,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, focusing his own gaze on the leather cover of his notebook peaking out from underneath Louis’ ass. “Oh.”

“Alright, everyone. No advice today. Or, actually, each of you get your own advice.” Mr. Winston waves a stack of card-sized envelopes. “Mr. Aurand and I split the participant list in half and wrote personal notes about how we’ve seen you grow as writers this week. Remember, everyone is encouraged to bring their families to the Open Mic tonight. The folks who have been chosen to read their work will receive their invitations in these notes. At the end of the evening, you will be able to pick up however many copies of the ‘zine your parents purchased and also to order more, if you want.”

He glances down, “Harry Styles. Come get your note and then you’re free to leave.”

As Harry packs up his stuff, Louis pokes his arm. “Hey,” he says, setting Harry’s notebook on his desk.

Harry picks up the notebook, but ignores Louis. Harry’d put himself out there and all Louis’d been able to do was gape.

Stupid. Harry knew Louis would never be interested in him as more than a friend. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Harry, wait,” Louis calls out.

Harry doesn’t respond. As he’s walking out the door, he hears Mr. Aurand say, “Tomlinson, stay in your seat. You haven’t been dismissed, yet. You can text your boyfriend as soon as you get out.”

But Louis doesn’t text him. Harry checks his phone on and off all afternoon. Louis must not have wanted to talk to him that badly.

~

Friday Evening, August 21

Harry’s mom insists they show up at Sara’s before the reading to help Mr. Winston and Mr. Aurand set up. Most of the work involves moving heavy furniture and sound equipment, which means that Harry ends up helping a lot more than she does.

She also offers for Harry and her to man the ‘zine table, distributing and selling copies of this year and last year’s work. Doing so means that the front door is in Harry’s line of vision. Each and every time it opens, Harry’s stomach gives a little lurch.

He has no idea how he’s going to face Louis now that he knows about Harry’s crush.

By ten to seven, the place is packed. Harry’s never seen so many people in here before. Harry only spots two or three empty seats. If Louis’ bringing his family, Harry doesn’t know where they’ll sit.

Harry considers whether or not to text Louis. He could save them a couple of seats. Is that a friend thing to do, he wonders. He thinks it is. He’d do the same for Niall and his family. Probably.

Just as Harry’s opening up their text conversation, Louis and an entourage of blonde girls tumble into the shop followed by a woman who he thinks is Louis’ mom.

While Louis ushers the little ones to the counter, the older woman stops right in front of Harry.

“Harry Styles!” she gushes. “I’m so excited to meet you!”

“Mrs… um...” Harry realizes he’s not sure if she and Louis have the same name. His mother hates being called ‘Mrs. Styles.’

“Just call me ‘Jay’, sweetheart. I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time, longer than Louis, probably. Though who knows with that boy.”

Harry smiles back at her, but he’s confused. He has no idea how Louis’ mom knows who he is enough to be a fan of his. A fan of his what?

To Harry’s mom, Jay says, “You must be his mom. How lucky. I’m Louis’. Can you believe these two guys? What a pair.”

“I’m Anne,” Harry’s mom replies. She raises her eyebrows at Harry and Harry knows he’ll owe her some kind of explanation.

Jay picks up the ‘zine. “Oh, that must be one of your photos, Harry. So talented. We have pictures you’ve taken of Louis all over the house. You’re gonna go somewhere with this, I’m sure of it.”

She sets the ‘zine back down and beams at Harry.

A small blonde head appears at Jay’s waist. “Louis said I can only have one cookie, Mom. I really want a peanut butter one and a chocolate chip. Tell him I can have both.”

Jay leans down and pats the little girl’s head. To Harry and his mom, she says, “It was so nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”

She winks at them before heading off to the shop counter.

Harry’s mother turns on him. “Who was that? I thought I knew all your friends’ parents. Is there something you’re keeping from me?”

Harry looks down and runs a finger over the table, trying to decide how much to tell her. Finally, he says, “Her son Louis- he’s a senior and on the soccer team and stuff- he was at camp, too. We became, like, friends. But, actually, I did something really stupid today, so you probably won’t actually see her around.”

“What did you-”

The mic squeals, cutting his mother off. Into it, Mr. Winston says, “Welcome, students and family and friends. We’ve been working really hard these last few weeks and we have quite the show for you tonight.”

Softly, Harry’s mom says, “We’re not done talking about this.”

Mr. Winston explains the writing workshops they’d done and the process they’d used for choosing pieces for the ‘zine. Then he talks a bit (way too long) about the students inspiring him to finish his own novel.

Finally, he announces, “First up to the stage to read, with the most popular piece we may ever have put into one of our ‘zines, a short story that left his classmates reeling in shock… Can I get a drumroll?”

Harry’s phone buzzes on the table. It’s a text from Louis.

he should of been a drama teacher.

Harry laughs and then frowns. Why is Louis texting him, now?

“The amazing Niall Horan!”

Harry watches Niall stand and pump his fist in the air. He wrote the story, Harry realizes. Like, of course, Niall wrote the crush story. Harry should have guessed. Niall’s great at prose and he’d been badgering Harry about his crush on Louis from day one!

Well, Harry thinks as he watches Niall seat himself on the stool, look what good following his advice has done for Harry.

Rejection. Heartbreak.

Harry’s phone buzzes again. that dark mf, Louis has sent. And then, think he was trying to tell us something

Harry searches the shop, trying to find Louis, but they’ve dimmed the lights and the place is too full to pick anyone out easily.   

~

Louis’ texts keep coming even though Harry doesn’t respond, a caustic (and witty) commentary on everyone who presents.

All Harry can figure out is that maybe Louis has decided that he can overlook the whole ‘crush’ thing and still be friends with Harry.

The problem is, Harry doesn’t know if he can do the same.

Mr. Winston takes the mic again. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans in to say, “This last reader begged me for the final spot. Said it was very important that he close out the show.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Louis stand.

Mr. Winston smiles. “I’ve been very impressed with this young man, especially as this was his first summer with us in the writing department. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis reaches the makeshift stage and stands beside Mr. Winston who is still hovering over the mic.

“Take it away, Mr. Tomlinson!”

Louis doesn’t sit on the stool. He doesn’t pull out a paper either. He looks straight at Harry, and says, “I want to dedicate this poem to someone very special. Harry Styles has really shown me how the whole writing camp thing works. He’s very, very charming and also very good at French...”

“Just read the poem, Louis,” Perrie calls.  

Harry looks at her then back at Louis. He must’ve missed something. He must not have heard correctly.

It sounded like Louis had just dedicated his poem to him, to Harry. And called him charming. And alluded to their kiss. In front of a crowd of people.

“So, yeah, this is 'Through the Dark.' And it’s for Harry.”

Harry remembers the poem from when Veronica had read it aloud. It was so romantic, confirming in Harry’s mind that Louis would be the kind of boyfriend that everyone longed for. Harry’d wished that Louis had meant the poem for him.

Harry closes his eyes and lets Louis’ voice wash over him. It’s different hearing the words come out of Louis’ own mouth.

Harry thinks back to that day in the classroom. Louis’d asked him to pay attention. And he’d really wanted to know if Harry’d liked it.

Harry opens his eyes. Louis is looking at him as he recites the poem from memory.

What if Louis had meant it for him the whole time?

When Louis finishes reading, he licks lips, tilts his head, and looks down. In the small spotlight, Harry can see that he’s sweating.

Suddenly everyone is clapping.

Like a puppet on a string, Harry stands up and opens his arms. Louis hops down from the stool and pushes past the first couple of tables and through the crowd before launching himself at Harry.

Louis’ legs wrap around Harry’s waist and Harry holds him tightly, concentrating on staying steady. Against Louis’ neck he says, “You like me.”

“You’re one to talk, Harold,” Louis cackles, leaning back a bit. “I’m your crush.” He reaches down to pinch Harry’s butt.

Harry squeaks and stumbles a little.

Harry’s mom laughs. “I assume this is your new friend, Harry.”

“We’re boyfriends!” Louis calls out.

So many people are watching them right now. Harry doesn’t even care. He complains, “Wait! You haven’t asked me out!”

From the front of the room, Mr. Winston clears his throat loudly, clearly trying to pull the attention back to himself.  It doesn’t really work; the noise of the crowd continues to pick up as people begin to gather their things.

Shouting now, Mr. Winston says, “Thank you all for coming tonight. The students have been a pleasure. As a novelist, I know how much we put of ourselves into our writing. So thank you all. Please pick up your copies of the ‘zine in the back. We can always order more if you’ve been inspired by the readings tonight!”

Louis slides down Harry’s body, one of his legs jostling gently against Harry’s crotch. Into Harry’s ear, he whispers, “You’ve liked me since you were eleven! Obviously, you want to be my boyfriend!”

Harry laughs and nods because he has and he definitely does.

“This is my new boyfriend,” Harry tells his mom.

“Oh is it, now?” His mom asks. She’s smiling, too. Harry hopes she can see how cute Louis is and how good of a writer he is and how much he clearly likes Harry.

He likes Harry!

“Yeah,” Harry says, as Louis wraps an arm around his waist.

Louis sticks out his free hand toward Harry’s mom. “Hi,” he says. “Your son is an incredible person. You must be an incredible mother.”

He’s laying it on thick, but Harry’s mom eats it up.

Pleased, Harry nuzzles into his neck. “Are you gonna visit me at work tomorrow?” he whispers.

Louis guffaws. “Of course. What kind of boyfriend do you take me for, Curly?”

“A really, really good one,” Harry replies.

 ~

Saturday, August 22

Louis arrives at the coffee shop halfway through Harry’s shift wearing his soccer gear, his fringe plastered to his forehead.

He stops about three feet in front of the counter. “Hi,” he says with a small smile.

“You can come closer,” Harry tells him. “I’m not going to attack you with French kisses, at least not while I’m clocked in.”

“That’s not-” Louis shakes his head. “I don’t want you to smell me like this.”

Harry laughs. “I kissed you when you had cheeto breath.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Really? I had cheeto breath? I didn’t even think about that. That’s so disgusting. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Harry shrugs. “No, it’s okay. I still liked it. I mean, like, I don’t mind you being a little gross.”

Louis takes a step forward, still not moving all the way up to the counter. “I’m sorry. When I said I’d come by last night, I’d forgotten that soccer practice started up today, so I can’t stay long. I want to grab a shake and then go home and shower and stuff.”

“What kind of shake?” Harry asks, moving to make it.

“Something berry,” Louis replies. “I don’t care.”

Louis watches Harry as he works, but doesn’t say anything. Harry tries not to feel a disappointed that Louis can’t stay longer. Harry’d planned a whole stanza of a sex poem to share with him during his break.

When Harry passes the drink over the counter, Louis says, “So, I was wondering. Do you think you might be able to come over later tonight? Maybe I can make up for the cheeto kisses. Or something.”

Harry doesn’t even think about it. “Yes. Yeah, I’m sure I can. If my mom won’t let me have the car, I’ll get Niall to drive me. Or I can walk. Where do you live?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, cool. I’ll text you my address. When do you think you can come over?”

Harry can head over right after he’s done working. Maybe he can even get off early. For the sake of love. Requited love- oh my god- with Louis Tomlinson. “Maybe four. Or four fifteen. Soon,” he says.

Louis grins. “Great! My mom wants to have you over for dinner, so that’s perfect.”

~

Harry arrives at Louis’ house at a quarter to four. His mom had been happy to drop him off after work.

She’d been less happy giving him the safe sex talk, but she’d plugged on, nonetheless. “Now, you know how to use a condom?”

“Mom,” Harry had said, looking out the window. “Of course, I know how to use a condom.”

He didn’t actually know how to use a condom but, like, he and Louis had just started dating last night. They were nowhere near the condom using stage. His mother clearly had the wrong idea about how sex savvy he was.

“I just want to be sure you’re being safe,” his mom had pressed.

Luckily, they’d pulled up in Louis’ driveway just then and two of Louis’ little sisters who’d been playing in the front yard had dashed over to greet them.

Louis comes outside a moment later, saying hello and goodbye to Harry’s mom in the same breath and pulling Harry into his house.

His grip stays tight on Harry’s arm as he drags him upstairs, down a dark hallway, through a door covered in band posters, and onto an unmade bed.

The sheets smell like Louis and Harry lets himself be tackled into them.

Louis lays atop Harry for a minute, propped on his elbows and looking into his eyes, still saying nothing. Finally, he whispers, “You really like me back?”

Harry gasps out a laugh. “Oh my god.”

Louis reaches down and tickles his sides, causing Harry to shriek-giggle a, “Yes!”

Louis relents and Harry adds, “I really, really like you, Louis.”

Tugging one of Harry’s curls, Louis asks, softly, “Then, why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been trying to get in with you for the past two weeks!!”

Harry looks away. It’s hard with Louis still laying on top of him. And then, without Louis’ eyes to distract him, Harry becomes very, very aware of the weight of Louis’ groin pressed against his own.

“This is going to sound stupid now.” Harry’s voice comes out raspy.

But then so does Louis’ when he replies, “Say it anyway.”

Harry chews his lip and then, finally admits, “I thought you liked Veronica.”

Louis laughs and the movement jostles their crotches closer together. Harry hopes they get to the kissing part of the afternoon sometime soon. “Liam would have killed me. Anyway, you’re much cuter. And you like sports!”

Harry doesn’t correct him. Instead, he meets Louis’ eyes again and says, “I like you.”

Louis beams. Then, lowering his face so that their lips are inches apart, Louis murmurs, “I like kissing you.”

Harry can feel his breath and it’s torture. “Then kiss m-”

Louis brings their mouths together. He doesn’t taste like fake cheese this time. He tastes like mint.

His tongue is firm and demanding and Harry remembers his complaints about aggressive French kissing. Clearly, his kissing partners weren’t the only ones to blame.

Still, Harry kind of likes the roughness, the way it causes his breath to get stuck in his chest. Louis’ fingers dig into Harry’s hair, pulling just a bit.

He whines into Louis’ mouth and arches up against him.

Harry’s own hands move to grip Louis’ hips, pressing him down so that their erections rub up against each other through the fabric of their shorts.

Louis breaks the kiss and moves his lips to Harry’s ear. “Looking at all the pictures you’ve taken of me over the last two years, I’d wager a guess that you like my ass.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out because he does. Louis moves one of Harry’s hands down to his butt cheek and Harry squeezes it. It’s so muscular and firm.

But not as firm as Louis’ cock, which Louis has begun to rut against Harry’s thigh. Harry meets him, trying to match him stroke for stroke, but Louis’ thrusts quickly turn unsteady and erratic.

Against Harry’s neck, he groans, “Fuck,” and begins to slow his pace.

Harry freezes.

“Did you just, like…” Harry whispers, not knowing how to finishing the statement.

Between heavy breaths, Louis replies, “Where’s your sex poetry, now, Styles?”

Harry whines and then says, “You, like… you came.”

He’s a little in awe.

Louis brushes at his fringe which is stuck to his forehead in exactly the same way it’d been after his soccer practice. “I did,” Louis agrees.

Harry reaches up to touch his face. “You’re all sweaty, now,” he says.

Louis wrinkles his nose and then reaches between them. “And you’re still hard.” He grabs Harry’s cock through his shorts and squeezes.

Harry’s breath hitches. “Not for long, if you, like, keep doing that.”

Louis begins to rub in long firm strokes. “Good," Louis says. Then, he asks, “Are you sure this isn’t too dry?”

Harry whines. Wetter would be better, but this is good. Yeah, this is so good that Harry can’t even form the words to say so.

Louis must figure it out, though, because he keeps moving, down and down and down, until Harry’s squirming and coming underneath him.

Louis leans in to press a smacking kiss against Harry’s lips. Then, he rolls off Harry and links their fingers together.

“That was helpful,” Harry murmurs. “Very instructive.”

“What?” Louis asks. He sounds as groggy as Harry feels.

“We have more experience to write from now,” Harry explains, cracking open one eye to look at Louis.

Louis smiles. “Yeah, good point.”

Harry grips his hand a little more tightly. “We’ll have to keep trying new things. For inspiration.”

“Yeah, for art,” Louis concedes.